I Will Find You
by neela
Summary: Four months after the Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers, but fate doesn't seem to leave her newfound peace alone... The sequel to "Nynaeve's Decision". Subtle spoilers for all books. AU from CoT.
1. Prologue: The Search Begins

_This is the sequel for "Nynaeve's Decision", but can be read on its own._

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(Part Two is inspired by the song "I will find you", theme from THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS.) _**

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Disclaimers: **I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there's anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off! _

**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge...

**Rating:** PG-13

**Author's Note:** See? I updated at last! Enjoy!

**Feedback:** Yes, please REVIEW!

**:: !WARNING! ::** Several "bad" words has been mentioned.

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**I Will Find You**

**PROLOGUE -The Search Begins  
**_by neela_

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_Hope is your survival  
a captive path I lead _

The rain was beginning to fall down in the darkness of the alley. It smelled strongly of old urine, garbage and death. It was one of those alleys no man or woman would choose to go through, even if they were in great need of hiding or escaping. No one knew what resided inside there at night, nor in the broad daylight. Unbelieving as it was, the alley was covered in darkness all year round.

One single man, though, ignored all the stares that followed him as he entered the alley. He had business to attend to, and he needed to finish them quickly, before the Tower Guard caught him. His escape from Tar Valonfour months prior had him marked for death penalty, and around here he was known.But it did not matter. Two months he'd been on the search. Two months of following dead ends. Hopefully, this meeting he was attending to, would give some turn in his search at last. The piece of information he had received from a contact would hopefully get him somewhere. He just had to confirm it.

_No matter where you go  
I will find you  
If it takes a long, long time_

Cold wind rushed past him, bringing the stench of death to his nose, but he ignored it, drew his cloak closer, and walked on. For a moment he cursed himself for not bringing a torch, but he knew deep inside that it was wiser to approach in the cover of darkness, or else the person he was looking for would probably run away.

Sensing a sudden movement in front of him, he stopped. He unsheathed his sword silently, and like a wolf, moved sideways to a wall at his left. He was getting used to the darkness, and while his ears were straining to hear anything, his eyes surveyed the alley. There was someone there, that was for sure. Quietly, the man pressed himself against the wall, just as voices suddenly whispered left to him.

"Where did he go?" It was a man's voice. A young man. Probably not older than twenty-five, or so. His lips curled in a smile.

"Hush!" hissed another man. "He may be here still!"

_No matter where you go  
I will find you  
In a place with thousand years_

The man looked to his left, just as two shadows emerged right out of the wall. He had no time to ponder the thought of how they had suddenly appeared, as a torch was lit and he was forced to crouch down, sword in hand. Silence embraced the alley. No footsteps, no movements at all. The light from the torch shone off the wall, giving him a better view of the ground, and his opponents.

"Tell me again why we're looking for him? It's really dark out here. Maybe it was just a rat, Maul? Why don't we just –"

"Quiet, you bloody fool! Unless you want to join your four-legged, little bastards! I begin to wonder why Damien nicknamed you Rat –you hate those little bastards!" exclaimed the one called Maul, the oldest.

"I do not!" The two men began fighting, he could hear them hit each other, but none fell down on the ground. The man peeked up from his hiding spot, deciding that it had been enough hide-and-seek by now.

_( Mohican)  
Nagohema  
Anatah  
Anache mowagan_

Slowly raising himself to full height, he drew up his sword, engaging on the two others. They were surprised to see him, but none managed to do much than defend themselves against his dangerous sword dance. Taking grip of the sword in one hand, he sent his fist flying towards the first target he found. With a whelp of pain did the youngest of them –Rat– fall down, clutching his face. The man then continued to fight Maul, who clearly took the opportunity while he hit Rat to change position and attack from the right. That showed to be a big mistake. Before Maul could lift his sword, he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. The man had been too quickly.

He cleaned and sheathed his sword, staring long at the man on the ground. Growing impatient, he suddenly grasped a handful of the other man's jacket, and heaved him from the ground.

"If you please," he said, and threw Rat in front of him, urging him to show the way in to the hideout. The little man quickly took off, whining at the aches in his back from the bouncing. They had not walked for mere a minute before Rat suddenly stopped in front of a wall, knocking at it lightly. Seconds later, a door disguised as a part of the wall opened, light streaming out at them, and Rat disappeared inside. The man followed suit.

_No matter where you go  
I will find you  
In a place with thousand years_

He entered something that looked very much like a tavern. The room was filled with several tables with additional chairs or benches, each one tabling everything from crook-nosed, skulk-looking fellows –or bandits as he liked to call them– to half-naked women with ruffled hair and mischievous grins as they studied his strong form. Most likely, they were already planning a scheme on who would make him warm their bed. The thought made him writhe in disgust, and he sent dangerous glares towards the women. Unconsciously with their grins dropping, the women took a step back.

Satisfied, he scanned the room for the one he was told to talk to. His eyes travelled over a large fire at the end of the room, a tavern girl standing behind a counter and pouring ale, and a staircase and doors leading out of the common room. Spotting Rat speaking with a one-eyed man, who looked up at him as the other gestured something –obviously something to do with the fight outside in the alley– he walked over, just as Rat left.

"I hear you're looking for someone," said the one-eyed man as-a-matter-of-fact, and took a large bite of the meat in his hand. "Well, you're come to the right man then! Damien, people call me." Damien flashed an almost-toothless grin. "So tell me, who's the unfortunate man?"

_No matter where you go  
I will find you  
In a place with no frontiers_

"Woman," he corrected quickly. Damien raised his eyebrows, and his cup hit the table so hard his ale splashed everywhere.

"A woman? Light be damned, has she stolen something from you? I say, the woman who would dare to do so doesn't care whether she's alive or dead." The man held up a hand to silence him, and Damien quieted.

_Ana mo ya  
Ana misa  
Ana mo ya  
Ana mo ya_

"She has done worse," he started, his voice like stone. Damien leaned closer, attention suddenly drawn to this man at the other side of the table. "She killed someone close to me, more precisely, my wife and child."

"Well, I'm not surprised, actually, forgive me that. It's a common story that some women kill their rival to get the man, just like us men do for the sweetness of a woman." Damien grinned evilly as he motioned exactly what he meant with 'sweetness'. Anger was flaring up inside the man. He didn't like this man, and he knew that by the end of their conversation, he would pay.

_Ana mo ya  
Ana misa  
Ana mo ya  
Ana mo ya_

"It was nothing like that. She just appeared one day, and killed them." Damien dropped his façade at once at the mention of such a brute action, and he was again interested in what he was telling him. "They could do nothing, the woman used the Power." He smiled inside as he saw how the other man paled at the mention of channeling. Damien drank the rest of the drink in his cup in one gulp and threw it away with such strength that it shattered against the wall. He cleared his throat.

"I'm not so familiar with channelers, but I will give it a try. What's her name?"

_No matter where you go  
I will find you  
In a place with thousand years_

He gave the one-eyed man a long look, considering if this was the right choice. Something deep inside him always reacted when he said her name, and he only had a vague memory of her from that day. It might as well not be the same woman he was after, but Selene had told him it was, and he trusted her experience.

He looked around the room to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. If anyone did, they would taste the same blade as Damien was going to. His eyes went back to the one-eyed man, who was obviously very intent on knowing the name of this woman. Face stony, head empty for any emotion, he spoke with hatred in his voice.

"el'Nynaeve Mandrogoran, a Yellow sister of the Grey Tower."

_No matter where you go  
I will find you  
In a place with no frontiers_

If it was possible, Damien paled even more, and the room went completely silent.

_No matter where you go  
I will find you_

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_**Author's Note: **So I'm finally back! Thanks to all of those who followed my last stories ("Nynaeve's Decision" and "Nynaeve's Decision: Rewritten") and reviewed them -this one is for you!_

_So what did you think? Up to your expectations? Review, and make chapter 1 come a lot faster than I intended to!_


	2. Chapter 1: Nightmares

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_**Disclaimers:** I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there's anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

_**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

_**Rating:** PG-13_

_**Author's Note:** Well, here I am again, with a new chapter! Hope you'll like it! Thanks to _starlight_ for betaing! :) Please remember to read the author's note on the bottom of the page._

_**Feedback:** Yes, please REVIEW!_

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**I Will Find You  
  
CHAPTER 1 -Nightmares  
**_by neela_

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"The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, and Age yet to come, and Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning."  
  
Born below the ever cloud-clapped peaks that gave the mountains their name, the wind blew east, out across the Sand Hills, once the shore of a great ocean, before the Breaking of the World. Down it flailed into the Two Rivers, into the tangled forest called Westwood, and beat at the walls of a small cottage. Smoke rose up from its stone chimney, and was illuminated by the pale moonlight. Around the cottage, the light streaming through holes in the closed shutters lighted up the ground.  
  
Apart from occasional cracks from the burning hearth, it was totally silent inside the cottage. Outside, an owl sat in a tree nearby, hooting softly in a nightly call to another of its kind. The stars twinkled merrily against the dark sky, sometimes covered as a grey cloud drifted past with the wind. All in all, it was just another, quiet night in the Westwood.  
  
Suddenly, a piercing cry shot through the night, lingering in the air for several moments before quieting down. The owl flew away quickly, scared at the sound. It bore ill omens when such a cry sounded in the night, especially in this area of the wild, where the cottage lay. People mostly stayed away from this kind of place, yet still some came, and one of those lived here. All alone.  
  
Inside, a woman stood up from the bed she had lain in for the last couple of hours, she shivered despite the warm air that radiated from the hearth. Her nightdress was soaked in sweat and her hair plastered itself to her head, a few drops of salty water still ran down her forehead. With every breath she took, her chest ached from tossing and turning during sleep. Stepping into a pair of slippers and throwing a woollen blanket around her shoulders, the woman padded from the dark room and into the bright living room.  
  
The cottage was very small, only containing of two rooms -one smaller that served as bedroom and a large one with a big hearth at the end, which was the living room.  
  
In the bedroom, the bed -placed near the door-, a washstand, and a large hand-carved chest where all her clothes lay -standing below one of the windows- were the only furniture. During daytime, the now-closed windows along the wall opposite of the door lighted up the room. At first sight, it would look very untidy, but that was only because of the size of the room. The living room, however, had lots of open space, but for a purpose. In a few months, the cottage would have another two persons living there.  
  
On her way over to the warm fire, the woman passed a table at her right large enough for half-a-dozen people, with high-backed, seat-cushioned chairs, and a door that lead outside on her left. Along the walls there were many shelves, most contained jars and bags of herbs and weeds, but also a small collection of leather-bound books -gifts from several of her friends. Rugs were laid out to cover the dirty, hard-trampled ground, some of them very colourful. Memories slammed into her and she grabbed her reading chair for balance as dizziness overthrew her. The reading chair was her most treasured furniture with its high, cushioned back, seat and arm rests. It was placed directly in front of the hearth, which was still dancing as wildly as it had when she went to bed.  
  
The woman sank down in the cushioned chair, blanket still around her, hands reaching up to massage her temples. The headache had not disappeared after two hours sleep, but that was no surprise. Again, her sleep had been troubled by nightmares. They never seemed to stop, and it was always the same, night after night.  
  
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She was running. Her heart thumped inside her, adrenaline rushing through her veins. There was only blackness around her, and she felt like she was running around in circles, half-suffocated. Behind her she could hear a gushing wind, like the Killing Wind of the Ways. All she knew was that she couldn't let it catch up with her. Bad things would happen then.  
  
Suddenly, a light appeared in front of her, widening into a horizontal rectangular window. On the other side she could see landscape bathed in light. She quickly moved through it, consciously aware that the wind was drawing nearer. Just as she exited on the other side of the opening, a pain seared through her head. She fell down on her knees, gasping until her screams filled the air. The wind was drawing nearer, she had to continue, but the pain wouldn't subside.  
  
"Mashiara..." A voice sounded before her. She knew it so well she wanted to cry. A hand flew to her belly, clutching it protectively, while her other still grasped her head. Tilting her chin up, her eyes widened at the sight before her.  
  
Some three meters away from her stood her stout husband. Her Malkieri Warder. He was looking at her, eyes soft, a hand reaching out to her. How she wanted to grab it! But she couldn't, the pain was growing rapidly. Her eyes were brimmed with unshed tears.  
  
"Nynaeve..." The hurt was clearly written in his voice. She didn't dare look at him any more. The wind was right up her tail now, and all she wanted was for it to consume her so she would never hear Lan's wounded voice again or be tortured by the pain. But just as the wind came searing down at her, it flew past her, taking the pain with it and she looked up, only to watch as her beloved was engulfed in a hurricane, his howls echoing in the air.  
  
"Lan, noooooo!" _

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Back to present, Nynaeve sighed, and leaned back in the chair, consciously rubbing her swollen belly. She was six months along now, but it looked like nine, and she was experiencing all the typical side effects. Nausea, dizziness, swollen feet and breasts, and that bloody backache!  
  
Hand reaching behind her back to massage the knots, she took hold of saidar, feeling the new life running through her veins and filling her with a contentment she had not felt for a long time. Carefully, she let Air pull the black kettle back over the fire, watching as minutes dragged by until steam rose up from its mouth. Then she stood up and moved over to a shelf and collected a bag of herbs. Not being able to Heal herself, Nynaeve used her Wisdom knowledge to take care of any needs that aroused, like the headache and nausea.  
  
Discarding her thoughts, Nynaeve went back to the hearth, picking up a mug from a bench on her way over. After a few minutes boiling the herbs and testing if it was safe to drink, she was back in her chair, blanket covering her chilled body, steaming mug in hand. She took a few sips of the liquid, grimacing, as it tasted to her experience -bad. Then her thoughts wandered off again.  
  
The nightmares were troubling her. Why were they occurring so often? Why was it always the same one? And why did she feel like she was being watched -all the time? The answers to her questions were, as usual, not present. They never were. Many nights had found her in the exact same position, the exact same train of thought, the exact feeling of helplessness. She tried so hard to escape the monotony of it, but it was difficult. The dreams never stopped, and up until this night, they had been half-finished when she woke up. One thing that bothered her specifically was that the dreams seemed to increase in occurrence. At first, there had been many nights between them, but now they were almost at top of each other. She knew that as soon as she fell asleep, she would have that nightmare again. And she didn't know if she could take it any more.  
  
_Maybe I should pay Egwene that visit I promised I would_, she thought, her hand once again on her stomach. A foot, or a fist, connected with her womb, and she smiled. A small smile, but a smile nevertheless.

During her mourning over Lan, she had found comfort in the presence of his children. Their children. She still didn't know what kind of sexes they were, but that didn't matter. As long as they were there, she was happy. They were her anchors, the sparkle of life that drove her forward, that made her go on with her life.  
  
Knowing neither sleep nor rest would come to her, Nynaeve decided to go for a walk. Maybe if she were quick enough, she would reach the special place before sunrise. Looking out, she discovered the first rays of sunlight were already painting the blue-grey sky.

_Better get moving,_ she thought as she folded the blanket and went into the bedroom.

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In the forest outside, shadows were still playing around the tree trunks and bushes. A little rabbit chose that moment to peek out from its den, soon followed by its mate and offspring. Scanning the surroundings, it saw there were not dangers around, and soon the forest ground flashed in brown and grey as offspring and mates danced and skipped. Not after long, more of the animal wild life woke up, and the forest began seeping with life, greeting the new day. 

Then suddenly, everything stopped. The rabbits sniffed the air in weary, the roe deer nosed out a potential danger, and the birds fled to their nests. Something was coming closer. Something dangerous.

Just as soon as the wild life had emerged, it disappeared. And no one looked out from his or her hideout to see the dark shadow moving down the slope towards the clearing further down.

The shadow was a man, but he moved like a wolf. His nose picked up the scent of animals and birds, but he paid them no attention. He'd already had breakfast. No, he was after something else.

Reaching the bottom of the declivity, he crouched down behind a bush, head tilted upwards so he could see clearly. His eyes quickly found what he was looking for; it wasn't difficult.

About fifty feet away from him, at the other side of the clearing, stood a little log cabin.

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The instant Nynaeve stepped outside in the dim morning light, she felt like if she was being watched. She stood still for a moment, scanning her surroundings. The forest looked dead, but only where it was still dark beneath the hill. The opposite direction of where she was going. 

Pushing the uneasy feeling to the back of her mind, she turned and began walking towards the edge of the forest. She found the little path she was looking for easily, casting another suspicious glance around her before continuing down the track.

She discovered with a joyous smile that in this part of the wood, animal life almost seemed to overflow. Birds were singing and strutting around, showing off their magnificent colours and voice. Little mice sprinted across the track just feet ahead of her, before they disappeared under the roots of a broad evergreen tree. In the distance, she caught the image of a little roe deer eating from a bush, but then it sensed her drawing nearer and in a second it was gone. It was all really idyllic, especially with the rising sun.

The track was moving uphill, and Nynaeve could feel the energy draining from her as she stumbled upwards. It wasn't easy these days, as she had about nine more pounds of weight to carry. Add the fact that she carried it on front and her back strained to keep her body upraised, and you got one damn angry woman! She couldn't wait until these babes got out! Stopping shortly on top of the slope to catch her breath, she noticed that the sun was arising. And she hadn't even reached her destination yet.

Ignoring the numbness creeping up her legs and the sting up her spine, she continued for several more minutes, along the winding path, across a few small streams, and then a bit downwards until she at last spotted the ending of the track. Quickly moving out of the trees and into the open, she stopped a moment to gaze upon the place before her.

She was standing at a plateau. At her left, a small waterfall fell down from a ten feet high stonewall, ending in a pool stretching four paces from edge to edge. From the pool ran a stream that followed the track until it reached the slope, and then it grew wider and wider the further it went downhill. At her left there was a cliff, free of trees and bushes along the edge. In front of her was the forest again, but it was thick and leading upwards to the top of the hill. She had no plans to go there in the near future. The rumours said there was something up there, something evil. Of course she dismissed these rumours, but still… Her children's safeties came first.

Walking over the green floor of moss and grass, Nynaeve sat down on a large, flat rock facing the open cliff, hands already massaging her back. Her feet hurt like hell, but she soon forgot all about pain and discomfort as the sky above and in front of her were painted in the first rays of light of the day. The picture was absolutely fantastic! From where she sat, she could see Emond's Field, slowly waking as the day came over them. Light shone down on the landscape in red, yellow and orange, and the blue sky could be seen behind the streaks of red.

Two birds chose that moment to fly across her eyesight, playing with each other and singing in their thrilling voices. Nynaeve found herself sighing in contentment. This was really not so bad replacement for sleep, or the lack thereof. This was–

The uneasy feeling appeared again. Someone, or something was watching her.

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The man saw the woman look around her surroundings. He knew she sensed him, but didn't move. It could only alert her to where he was. And he wouldn't let that happen, not yet. Not until he had gotten what was his. el'Nynaeve Mandrogoran's children would never know their mother… 

With an evil glint in his eyes, the man began moving away from the tree he'd been hiding behind.

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Nynaeve scanned her surroundings one more time. The feeling was gone, but she still felt queasy. 

Stop it, Nynaeve! It was probably nothing. You're just making something small into something big. The bloody war has made you all jumpy and wary!

Suddenly, a branch snapped behind her, and she whirled around, taking hold of the Power as she prepared a wave to meet whatever it was that caused the snapping. Someone was drawing nearer…

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**TO BE CONTINUED**

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_**Author's Note: **Wow, a long chapter! I'm really enjoying writing this story -it challenges me. Thanks to all those who has reviewed, and to those who haven't -REVIEW! :) Chapter 2 will come along when I've finished the 3rd, and if you leave a little response I'll hurry up! _

_Oh, and in case some are wondering -"Nynaeve's Decision: Rewritten" is currently on hold._

_Also, I'm been thinking alot lately, and here's the result! (look below)_

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_**CHALLENGE**  
_  
**Write a Nynaeve/Lan story, set before, during, or after Tarmon Gai'don. The story cannot rate more than PG-13, and must include one **or** more of the following things:**  
  
_STATEMENTS:  
_"Weakness are for children."  
"Duty is heavier than a mountain."  
"If you don't get your sweet bottom out of there, I'll box your ears so bad they'll be blue and yellow until Bel Tine!"  
  
_SCENES:_  
-Myrelle giving the bond to Nynaeve  
-Another man looking at Nynaeve in a 'suggestive' way  
-Nynaeve and Lan talking about having children or the renewing of Malkier  
  
_OBJECTS:_  
-Lan's golden signet ring  
-an a'dam  
-a sword made for women  
-an item belonging to the DO  
  
_WHAT WILL NOT BE ACCEPTED:  
_-Lan or Nynaeve having "superpowers" (the story is more beliveable without it)  
-Slash of any kind  
-Small gadget(s) of some kind that gives a person "superpower"  
  
_BONUS  
_Small awards are given (from me) if **one** of the following is included:  
-Nynaeve kicks someone's bottom  
-Lan shows up wearing nothing but underwear (oh, yum! grin)  
-Nynaeve is pregnant  
-Malkier is renewed  
-Nynaeve's and Lan's children makes an appearance  
  
**Well, then it's all said. Any questions about this challenge can be directed to me, preferably by e-mail (which can be found on my author's page). :)**

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_Well, back to reality -please REVIEW and make my day! c",)_


	3. Chapter 2: Tales

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_**Disclaimers:** I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there's anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

_**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

_**Rating:** PG-13_

_**Author's Note: **Here I am! I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, but RL (aka Real Life) has been very messed up lately. I haven't yet finished chapter three, but I'm so close to finish that I'll just upload this one now... Thanks for all the reviews, it makes me warm! Hope you still like the story, and want to continue reading! _

_**Feedback:** Yes, please REVIEW!_

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER TWO – Tales**  
_by neela_

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An apple fell down from the bowl, rolling along the length of the table before it fell on the floor with a thud that broke the silence in the room. Nothing moved. Silence crept back into the sunlit room, but didn't, however, linger. Suddenly the wall rang with the loud clash of metal meeting wood, liquid splashing everywhere. The object scrambled down on the floor in several pieces, broken at impact. The tough, blood red substance ran down the rough wall in streams, a few feet long, zigzagging as the stench rose up into the air, sickly sweetening. 

A high-backed, cushioned chair dragged along the floor, positioning itself by the wide, elaborate curved table. Shortly, the brisk stride of hasty feet followed, clicking from the wooden heels attached to the silk shoes, adding an inch to the owner's height. The chair creaked ruthlessly from the weight put on it as feet were drawn up on the waist-length table, lasting for as long as it took for the person to sit comfortable enough to calm down.

It took several moments, but in the end, silence came back as the sun rose from behind the high trees outside. For a moment, it seemed as if the raging anger inside the person had eased down, but no. As soon as the memories came back into the person's mind, the rage flared alive. Hands reached for another object as the person jumped up, throwing with all his might the victim of his anger. Only when the storm of sounds had passed and silence engulfed the room did the person notice exactly what it was.

Picking up the remainders of an old statuette, believed once to be of the strongest material ever, the person swore loudly. It was Power-wrought; it wasn't supposed to break. At least, that had been a fact before the Day. Afterwards, everything wrought with the gift given to just a few selected by a powerful master, was less frail than Athan'Miere sea porcelain. The statuette was useless now, as its powers had disappeared the same Day, but it held an affectionate worth to the person.

"Curse you Lews Therin!" The person threw away the pieces, roaring as he went. Stopping to take a deep breath, the person growled. "Curse you! Not only did you take away the one I have held dearest so long ago, but now you've taken my power too!"

_A man is walking around in circles in a room lit up by the moonlight outside and a few candles along the wall. He's impatient, always had been. _She is late_, he muses._ _Shrugging and believing it's probably a good reason for it, he continues his wandering._

_Suddenly, the door opens, and a determined, golden-haired woman steps in. But she goes no further._

_"My darli-"_

_"It's over, Elan." Her green eyes, so cold. He shudders, speechless. "I thought you would like to know." And with that she left, breaking his heart in a thousand pieces. What he saw later froze those bits to ice and stone. He changed after she'd left him. She, his loving Ilyena._

"Oh yes, I hate you Lews Therin. Ever since that night I saw you with my Goldenbird." In the blink of an eye, the person grinned evilly. "Though you made up a bit when you killed her, along with your children."

From outside the room, servants could suddenly hear a maniacally, roaring laughter.

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Closing her eyes and concentrating, sweat already beginning to run down her face, Nynaeve wove streams of Air to make a hurricane, and sent it flying towards her attacker. Still in the dark world behind her eyelids, she heard a yelp, a very familiar yelp too. She opened her eyes just as her attacker called out: "Easy, Nynaeve, it's only me!" in a very masculine tone. 

Tam al'Thor was hardly visible inside the swirls of wind, but she knew that voice belonged to him, and quickly let go of the Power. Rand's foster father landed unceremonially on the ground, grunting. As he stood up, wincing at the pain and caressing his bottom, Nynaeve suddenly saw the humour in what had just happened and started laughing.

"What's so funny?" the older man asked stupidly, frowning at her. He crossed his arms and scowled at her when she stopped laughing, but had yet to conceal the mirth in her eyes and the wavy grin she knew was plastered on her face. It seemed strange, she abruptly realised, to laugh and smile again as if time had merely been on hold during the War. She stopped immediately, and noticed Tam's look deepen as concern flashed through his eyes. Nynaeve placed a hand on her swollen belly unconsciously, then turned away, suddenly feeling cold.

Tam's worried features had only reminded her of another man, and another time. When she'd been carefree, yet worried about the younger Emond's Fielders, suspicious about a certain female channeler, and most of all, happy and in love. She still saw his face, if she allowed her eyes to close long enough, or let her mind wander. She'd been careful about that, always concentrating on forcing the memories back whenever they showed up, but with the continuously dreams, it was difficult.

Just a moment ago, Tam, despite his opposite appearance and personality, had been Lan. Her loving, wonderful Lan. Nynaeve shook her head. She wouldn't think about that now. When she was alone, then maybe, she would let herself break. It had been a while since the last time, so perhaps this time she could indulge herself this outburst of welled-up feelings. But not in front of Tam. In private, that's where she could unleash her grief.

"Nynaeve?" His gentle voice broke through her reverie, and Nynaeve was startled to find the older man right beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Their eyes locked.

Tam al'Thor was by no means a fool. Fighting in the Whitecloak War, and the two wars between Illian and Tear, so many years ago had made the man harder, wiser, and very hard to decieve. His calm, blue eyes noticed things other did not, and she realised, that he saw right through her shield of forced calm and happiness, simply because he knew what it was like. Exactly what it was like. That's one of the things she liked about the sturdy, old man. His ability to be a friend who knew her needs even though at times she did not. She knew he wanted her to open up, let loose some of the pain residing inside her to make her feel better, but she couldn't. At least, not before. Now, however, an instinct told her to trust him, to repay his patience and kindness for the last three months since she'd arrived in Two Rivers.

Nynaeve turned her head away and looked out on the horizon once more. Morning was fully upon them now, bringing a new start, and another chance.

Feeling rather tired from using both her physical strength and _saidar_ in the limit of an hour, she moved slowly to the stone she'd once occupied, and sat down. She left an open space beside her, gesturing without words and hands that Tam could sit down.

Ignoring his nearing presence, Nynaeve sighed, and opened her mouth. She stopped before any words had formed on her tongue, thinking over her words carefully. el'Nynaeve Mandrogoran was perhaps opening up, but she hated feeling helpless, and relying on others. Weakness were for children.

_"Do you really think that, Nynaeve?" His voice, so soft, drifting from those hard lines caressing his face. Her husband._

_She didn't know what to respond, seeing him so quiet, yet seriousness hid behind those eyes, she knew. Did she believe that? It's what she'd told herself ever since her father died when she was 14 and Doral Barran had taken her on as a Wisdom's apprentice. But was it true?_

_Lan spoke again. "Children show more feelings than adults, yes, but that doesn't make us resistible to what some call weakness . A wise man once said to me, _"Know when to conceal your weakness, and when to not, because there are moments when the enemy must rest his eyes and only your friends remain." _We all have it in us, Nynaeve, either we're young or old. Feelings are there to make us stronger when in need, and make us go on, no matter how bad things are."_

_Their eyes locked, steel blue meeting dark pools. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry or yell in rage, she simply sat down beside him, slipping into his embrace without a word. There she felt safe. Safe to do whatever she pleased._

_"I think I should ask Rand to just make up a law that says "al'Lan Mandrogoran has no right, whatsoever, to knowingly and fully lure his wife into his web of confidence and wisdom. And-" she added as Lan chuckled lightly. "-furthermore, his wife are entitled to choose a punishment she sees fit if this law should be broken."_

_Eyes full of mirth met hers, and a rumble sounded from his throat, sending a shiver down her spine._

_"And what, if I may ask, do the wife of this man see fit?"_

_She grinned, reaching up and kissing him soundly on the lips, drawing his face closer as arms sneaked around his neck, securing him in her lair._

"Memories are haunting me," Nynaeve said quietly, forcing down the lump in her throat. She kept her eyes trained on the horizon, needing something to keep her steady and calm. "Wherever I am, his face shows up. Usually it goes away, but it leaves such an emptiness inside me that I feel I can't breath."

Tam didn't ask the obvious question, for which she was grateful. She didn't have to explain whom she was talking about. He'd met al'Lan Mandrogoran long before the War, just a few months after the Cleansing of _saidin_. They'd gotten along very well, if her memory didn't deceive her. So different, yet so alike.

"You remind me of him, actually. But that's not the reason why I enjoy your company." Right then, a fist or a foot decided to connect with her womb, and she gasped slightly, caught off-guard. A small smile tugged at her lips, and from the corner of her eye she could see Tam smile too. She reached for his hand and placed it on her belly. A baby kicked again.

"Amazing," the man said quietly, awed. Nynaeve only nodded, before feeling the lump come back to her throat.

"Lan would have loved to feel his children move." Did the air suddenly seem tight? "He- he'd probably said that he lov- he'd said a bunch of foolish, non-important words! And- and now-" She almost gave in to the tears. Almost. Weakness or not, she'd promised herself she** would not** cry. Mourn, yes, but not through tears. Tears didn't make life go on. They were just inconveniences in the great picture of life.

**That's a lie, Nynaeve, and you know it! **That cursed little voice at the back of her head threw the words at her, cutting through her carefully erected shield around her heart. She felt she did not have the strength to reply. Neither did she realise that Tam had put an arm around her shoulder, soothing her. Blackness threatened to surround her, but she willed it back, trying take control of her feelings once more.

When Nynaeve discovered she was resting on Tam's shoulder, time must have passed considerably, judging by the sun's position. She removed herself quickly, muttering an apology below her breath, to which Tam only shrugged.

"That's what friends are for, Nynaeve." At those words, a pang of guilt rushed through her. She'd abandoned all her friends in the Blight, to busy about fleeing from the face splattered on every man she met, and the place where he'd passed away. Tam, noticing the flash crossing her eyes, changed the topic.

"You must be excited about the children, though. I remember when me and Kari brought Rand back here. Light did that boy get into much trouble!" He chuckled lightly, pleased to see a remembering smile twitch her lips.

"I'm excited, yes, but I'm also worried," she said quietly. "What if I'm not a good mother? I don't know anything about babies! How will I manage?"

Sensing a hand on her shoulder, she turned to her friend, who was looking at her gravely. "You'll make a wonderful mother, Nynaeve. And I'm sure there's someone else who would think that too." There was no trouble in knowing whom he talked about. She blinked back her tears again, trying to find some other topic while at the same time not thinking about the man who'd died at the battlefield. It was too painful.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Nynaeve asked, voice thick. She coughed discreetly. "If I remember correctly, you shouldn't be here until noon tomorrow."

"The peddlers are coming today instead of next week so I thought I'd come and pick you up," Tam answered lightly, ignoring the glare he received at the unmentioned notion of her difficulty to walk. Again, she cursed her pregnancy for making her so _immobile_. Though, her glare changed quickly into a questioning raise of eyebrows.

" Saw them camping by Taren yesterday when I came back with the sheep," Tam continued. "Seems there are more than there's been before, and one of the ferry folks said they brought strange news about the world outside."

This sparked her interest. She'd cut herself completely from the world, moving to a place she felt safe and unnoticed. Well, not noticed with the exception of the locals of course. The months she'd been on the road had passed in a blur, and she remembered little, save the few encounters she had with Darkfriends and a disgusting man with only one eye. Therefore, she hardly knew what was happening around her childhood land, the old Manetheren. Though rumours said the world was changing drastically. Not that she ever cared for rumours -foolish talk shared among those who enjoyed to tell, and those who enjoyed to listen.

"What news?" His little smile dropped immediately, and Tam sighed.

"They say exactly what the rumours say -the world is changing fast. Already there are new wars going on, this time between kingdoms themselves. Some are not satisfied with how the Lord Dragon Reborn settled things after the Battle. Nobles are plotting how to get rid of him, others wants to help him rule. And then there's the followers of the Dark One who are still running loose. Tales want it that there's even a few Chosen still alive. The Tower is currently being judge for imprisoned Darkfriends while at the same time integrating the male channelers with the female, **and** chasing after supporters of the Dark."

Nynaeve couldn't listen anymore. The guilt for leaving her friends lay heavily on her shoulders already, but now it increased by hundreds for not being there to help them.

**A Wisdom does not leave people of her own village by themselves. She's there for them, guiding, aiding, and doing what she can for them. **The little voice returned, so soft she almost couldn't hear it. It felt like the knife put in her heart at the Day of the Battle, had just been twisted and pushed further in.

"Nynaeve? Are you alright?"

She snapped out of her reverie, thankful that Tam was there and she'd managed to withdraw her tears. Nodding, she began to rise up, determined to not just sit around and let her thoughts get the better of her. Sometimes, it was too dangerous to let a mind wander. All you could do to avoid that, is to keep busy with something.

"I've got to head back to the cottage. The sun's already high up, and I haven't had any breakfast yet." Before she'd even taken a step, Tam was beside her, discreetly ready to help her should she have any problems when walking. Nynaeve ignored him with a sniff and kept going on a steady pace along the forest path.

After a few minutes in silence, Tam spoke suddenly, just as she manoeuvred herself across a stream, breathing heavily and rubbing her swollen stomach.

"There was also another reason why I came today. Someone else arrived with the ferry last night. They dropped by at my farm to say hello, and I can't say I was surprised to see them. I knew they'd come by sooner or later," the older man added with a mysterious twinkle. As the moments dragged by, Nynaeve felt the children move in the same irritation and impatience that rushed through her body.

"Well?" She tapped her foot in that oh-so-familiar manner. "Are you going to tell me who it was?"

Tam grinned. "Lord Perrin and Lady Faile of course! Travelled all the way from Saldaea, they have!" She was speechless, and didn't know what to do or say. "And they want to see you, Nynaeve. Today."

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**TO BE CONTINUED**

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_**Author's Note:** Puh! One chapter down, more to go! ;P _

_At the time, I know not how many chapter there will be, but stay tuned! _

_Can't promise you when next chapter will come, but I **do** promise to hurry up if EVERYONE THAT **READS **ACTUALLY WRITE **ONE** REVIEW! My muse needs it, really.. :)_

_By the way,_ **Aria-wolfstar**_, it was meant that every story written _after _my challenge will qualify. Sorry, but that's how things is. You could always write another! :p When are you gonna update anyway?_

_And _**F75 **_-I'm proud of you! Hope I won't disappoint you (or any of you other readers)! _

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_**I ALSO WANT TO REMIND EVERYONE ABOUT MY CHALLENGE!** More details can be found on my author's page. I encourage everyone to take it! _


	4. Chapter 3: Guilt and Regret

_**Disclaimers:** I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there's anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

_**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

_**Rating:** PG-13_

_**Author's Note: **Sorry this took so long! Been a week and a half in Russia on a school trip, so I haven't gotten time to post this! Hope you're still with me, and that you'll like this chapter also! _

_**Feedback:** Yes, please REVIEW!_

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER THREE - Guilt and Regret**  
_by neela_

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It was noon before Nynaeve and Tam arrived at Emond's Field. The trip to her cottage had taken most of the morning due to her pregnancy and the need to change cloths and eat. 

Emond's Field came into view, and once again, Nynaeve was stunned to what they'd done to her home village. A long defensive wall of stone had been erected around the whole village, including even a bit of grassy fields where horses were cropping grass and children playing. It was at least two spans broad, with slits in the wall for archers, and two great entrances at the south and north end of the village. Two men dressed in what people had come to call "a Redcoat" -long red jackets with buttons and a broad leather girdle, lined with black- flanked the gate. Nynaeve immediately recognized Bar Dowtry and Lem Thane, two boys about Rand's age. The former, she remembered, had once been caught in his father's hayloft with Kimrey Lewin, which had resulted in their marriage one month later. She smirked. They hadn't been able to sit down for a week after the wedding.

Sending them a curt greeting, Nynaeve shifted in her seat, feeling very uncomfortable. Travelling by wagon was one thing she would most certainly **not** do again. Her back ached, her bottom was sore, and she could feel the warmth of the sun getting to her. Doing her little Aes Sedai trick helped her deal with the warmth, but it did nothing to ease her pain. Apparently, Tam must have noticed, because he pulled up right inside the gate and jumped down on the ground in a way that made Nynaeve jealous.

Tam appeared at her side as she climbed down slowly and planted her feet on the ground. She swayed a little, and was grateful when the man steadied her discreetly. Straightening up, she smoothed the wrinkles on her shawl and skirt, then set off along the road.

From each of the gates, a road lead to the centre of the village, where the once Winespring Inn had stood (it was destroyed in a fire two years ago). Now, a big market place took its place; foreign peddlers called out to the people passing by while showing them samples of what they were selling. A certain stall selling many strange herbs drew Nynaeve's attention, but she steered clear of it and headed the opposite direction. She could always come back later.

On her way to the northeast of the village, Nynaeve couldn't help but overhearing pieces of conversations from people passing by. A group of women were talking about ways to clean wine spots from clothes; three men were discussing this year's harvest and shipping tobacco from Taren and up north; and an Andoran peddler was being asked about Caemlyn by two little boys Nynaeve didn't know. Tam stopped to talk to Bran al'Vere, who was still Mayor and taking care of things "when the Lord and Lady are away" -as he'd said to her when she had come back.

Nynaeve shook her head. She still didn't get it, after three years, that Perrin had suddenly been turned into a Lord by his fellow villagers and the help of a certain Saldaean. It was well-known (at least among their friends) that Faile was keeping a leash on her husband, but to their surprise, Perrin didn't seem to have anything against it. He loved his wife very much. Nynaeve sighed, unwanted memories coming back to her mind. And it didn't get better as she heard a voice call for her, and she looked up to see a hurl of colours before she was lifted high from the ground and given a huge bear hug.

"Perrin Aybara! You put me down this instant!" she yelled angrily, toes dangling two feet above the ground.

"I'm sorry, Nynaeve," the Perrin said. "Its just so good to see you again!" Laughter rang in her ears as her feet connected with the earth again, arms balancing her. She put her hands on her hips and glared at the rueful grin meeting her eyes. Perrin had hardly changed since the Battle, although there was new wisdom in his twinkling eyes. He also seemed nervous, and excited. He continued to speak.

"I haven't seen you since- well, since the Battle."

That struck a cord in Nynaeve's heart, and she took a deep breath to regain control. Perrin must have missed it, because he was soon dragging her over ("Come, Nynaeve!) and into the mansion he and Faile lived in. It was three stories high, easily the highest building in whole of Emond's Field, and built of stone. The windows and doors were lined with rough, carved wood, making Nynaeve think of the Saldaean villages she'd ridden through during her journey.

They stepped inside, and she felt a chill strike her immediately but she didn't mind. It was rather hot outside.

She followed Perrin through the hallway just inside the door, then past a door at their far left, leading into what appeared to be a large living room. The curtains were drawn back, and sunlight filled the room and highlighted the interior. A big hearth was placed on the wall opposite of her, behind three cushioned, high-backed chairs. A large table with additional chairs stood in the middle of the room upon a many-coloured carpet Nynaeve recognized as Cairhien. A few paintings hung around the wall, between several oil lamps. Also a wide bookcase had been set at her left, but there were at the time very few books there.

"Lady Nynaeve, how wonderful to see you again." Faile came through a door just beside the bookcase, leading into the kitchen if Nynaeve was to judge by the smell. The Saldaean was dressed in a long, green skirt, a split running up to her knee, and a white blouse with green embroidery along the collar and arm-cuffs. Her jet black hair was drawn back in a delicate knot at the back of her neck, making her look sterner than usual.

Nynaeve grimaced. She disliked being called Lady before the Battle as she had difficulty in adapting to royalty, but now she despised it for mocking her of what she could never have again. Well, her children could probably, but not her.

"It is good to see you too, Lady Faile," the ex-Wisdom replied honestly, and made a small curtsey. At least as far as she good with her size. Sensing Perrin behind her, she stood up and glared the twinkle in his eyes away.

"There is no need for formality any more, Nynaeve, if I may call you that?" Faile added and waited for Nynaeve's curt nod. "Please sit down," she gestured towards one of the cushioned chairs. "You must tire easily these days." Biting back a sharp remark, Nynaeve made her way over and sat down, unconsciously sighing when her sore back leaned back in the chair. Before she knew it, a footstool had appeared under her feet before she could protest, and under the brief, stern look from Faile, she tried to relax and nodded her thanks.

Perrin sat down in the chair opposite of her, while Faile disappeared for a moment into the kitchen, only to arrive again with a tray holding three steaming cups of herbal tea. Taking the offered cup, Nynaeve inhaled the sweet smell of herbs and earth before putting it to her lips and sipping the contents. From the corner of her eye, she could see the Saldaean sit down in the chair beside Perrin's, and exchange a look with her husband. She gave a little smile. That was one of the looks she would share with Lan. Perrin coughed.

"I'm a little surprised, to say the least, to find you here in the Two Rivers. We have been wondering where in the Light you disappeared to after the battle." He gave her a sad look. "We have all been worried, thinking about your current condition, and the threat of Darkfriends still looming over the world." It looked like he wanted to say something else, but retained. She decided to let it go.

"Is it really so dangerous out there?" Nynaeve said instead, voice hard but with the underline of uncertainty. "All I have heard is rumours, and when I was on the road, there were still too much celebrations to even think about what's going to happen next."

"I'm afraid so. Just in the last couple of weeks, nobles and royals and even lower-ranking people have been at each other's throats. Last I heard was that Illian and Tear have already battled, while a revolution is going on in Amadicia and Ghealdan. People want to shake off the Children of Light's yoke. The only place where there still seem to be some resemblance of peace is with the Aiel, Athan'Miere, Ebou Dar, Andor, Cairhien, Tar Valon, and the Borderlands. Though the latter is also changing. They're-"

"Do you want something to eat?" Faile cut in quickly, throwing aside whatever it was her husband wanted to say. Husband and wife exchanged a look, and to Nynaeve's irritation, Perrin cowed under Faile's sharp eyes. What were they hiding from her? She thought first to decline the offer, but she then saw an opportunity.

"Yes thank you, Faile. If you have any strawberry-creamed tarts, then I would be forever grateful. I have discovered a certain craving for those in the last weeks." She gave the other woman a smile, secretly hoping she would leave the room long enough for her to question Perrin. However, things didn't seem to turn out that way. Instead, it was the charming, cowing husband who had to go to the kitchen and get cookies. And more tea.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Faile turned to her, looking at her hesitantly. Nynaeve didn't know what to think, and let the woman have some time. In the end, the Saldaean seemed to have willed up her courage.

"Can you Delve me?"

Nynaeve almost spilled her tea. That was not exactly what she expected. Faile wanting to be Delved could only mean one thing. Everything became clear to her now. So this was why Perrin had to get the tarts.

"Are you sure?" she asked testily, looking the other woman square in the eye. The Saldaean gave a small smile.

"I wouldn't ask you to do such a thing if I was sure. And I **am** curious." Nynaeve let out a little breath, then sat up straight.

"I'm guessing you don't want Perrin to know yet, so we better get this done with before he gets back." Faile only nodded in consent. Gesturing to stand up, Nynaeve grasped hold of the Power. She'd discovered during the last couple of weeks that it was getting harder to maintain the hold for a long period of time, or several times a day. Especially that amount she let flow through her now. It was the second time this morning, so she struggled in the beginning, but once she was certain she could go through with the weave, she began.

Delving a person had often left Nynaeve feeling slightly ashamed, like she was nosing in other people's business. This time, however, was different. First it was that Faile had asked her to do so. Second was that her weaving was affected by her pregnancy, leaving her to worry about holding the weave rather than thinking closely about everything she encountered. Peering beneath her half-closed eyelids revealed a focused Faile, hands grasped around each other. She really wanted good news, Nynaeve thought airily. Then, she was forced back to the weave as it faced the result she searched for.

Letting go of the sweet caress of saidar, Nynaeve experienced a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness. Blackness threatened to overcome her, but she fought back, feeling a pair of hands helping her down in something soft. For a few minutes, she just sat there, waiting for the nausea to disappear.

"Are you alright, Nynaeve?" Not wanting to open her mouth, she just nodded, hearing a door creaking far, far away. So the caring husband was back, not aware of what had just happened. She wanted suddenly to cry, but for the third time this day, she willed the tears back. A warm cup was forced into her hands, and she accepted it, inhaling the sweet essence of herbs.

"Thank you," she replied, voice croaked. Sipping the hot liquid, Nynaeve opened her eyes slowly. Perrin was seated in his chair again, holding a tray of strawberry-creamed tarts, though Faile was on her knees in front of her, looking at her worriedly, and the question unanswered in her eyes. Wary of Perrin's intent gaze, Nynaeve gave a small smile and a wink to the woman before her. Faile seemed to visibly relax, then grinned at her before taking on a mask of calm as she returned to her chair.

"So tell me Perrin, how is everyone doing? As you pointed out, I haven't exactly kept in touch with anyone since the Battle." It didn't hurt so much now to mention the Battle. Maybe because she was thinking about her friends rather than him.

And for the next hour, Perrin laid out in detail how everyone had split up after the Battle and proceeded with their lives. All the while, Faile kept sending him loving looks, stroking his hand or smiling mysteriously. Nynaeve also discovered how hungry she actually was, and it was called for more tarts and tea every half an hour.

Mat, she learned, was currently in Ebou Dar with his fiancé, preparing for the wedding which was to take place at the beginning of next year, as soon as the snow was gone at the coast. Apparently, they would leave for Seanchan for a honeymoon afterwards, so that Mat could be introduced to his mother-in-law. This mental image made Nynaeve grin. She imagined Tuon's mother to be very stern, perhaps more than she was herself.

Egwene had returned to the Tower shortly after the Battle and was currently struggling to keep it together in this time of uproar. But friends between, there was a rumour going around that she was seeing someone, whose name was unknown. Though, there were some theories about whom exactly it was. She only gave the couple before her a knowing smile. After all, she knew the girl better than most. And she had to admit, Egwene's sweetheart wasn't** that** bad-looking. Better than his half-brother at least.

The couple itself had been in Saldaea for a long time, helping out wherever they were needed. It seemed that Perrin's gentle side had affected Faile too, as they had been the first of nobles to help the commoners build up the land after the War. Most sent supplies, but there were a few, like Perrin, who helped in constructing houses and defensive walls, etc. Then they'd begun the journey to Two Rivers. Like Nynaeve, Perrin had also missed home and decided to stay Lord of The Two Rivers. Though Faile revealed that her husband was often found mumbling to himself about wanting to be a blacksmith again. Nynaeve gave the flushed man a knowing smile. She wanted to become Wisdom again, but someone else had that job now.

When the topic came to Rand, Elayne, Min and Aviendha, it went quiet.

"What is it?" she asked, fear creeping into her. Perrin sighed.

"Rand's not well, Nynaeve. Whatever the Dark One did has affected Rand deeply. After the Battle, he did not eat, sleep or anything. He just sat in a chair all day long and at night too. And he often talked about blaming himself for someone's death." At this, Nynaeve's head shot up. Was there a chance that Rand blaming himself for...for his death? The young man had revealed to her once how he took every woman's death on himself, and she remembered how her reacted when she told him Lan was gone forever.

Far, far away, she could hear Perrin speak, but she only picked up a few words, "...don't know who...Elayne, Min and Aviendha...knocked some sense...faring better...blindness and the old wounds...not coping well...period of adjustment...should get better...take care of the world...his duty." In the end, Nynaeve shook her head and closed her eyes. Guilt was filling her again and that little voice reminded her that a Wisdom takes care of those who need it. Now she was absolute certain she needed to see her friends.

"Where is he now?" she asked quietly, looking up at the young couple before her. They also looked sad, even Faile.

"I don't know. He moves back and forth. Sometimes he's in Cairhien, sometimes in Caemlyn or Tar Valon, or the Aiel Waste. We just can't follow him." Perrin gave her an apologetic smile. She only nodded, deep in thought. Then Faile excused herself, saying that nature calls, and left them sitting there in an uneasy silence.

"Nynaeve?" Perrin finally asked, uncertainty in his quiet, growling voice. Nynaeve shook herself out of the reverie.

"Yes?"

"Why did you leave?" His amber eyes were sorrowful, and it only strengthened her guilt. So many had suffered by her abrupt exit, she realized, and for that she hated herself. "I can kind of understand when I think about Lan, but you didn't even say goodbye. We were so up in arms about it. And then I don't just mean your friends, but everyone." She looked at him, questioningly. "You're a heroine, Nynaeve."

"What?" She sat up so fast the dizziness returned, speechless. Her, a heroine? Impossible! "That's outrageous!"

"You were the one who killed the Dark One together with Rand. And you're the last link to Malkier, which many people want to renew, mostly Borderlanders. Many remember you from the Battle, and some of the elderly Borderlanders recognized yours and Lan's outfits as Malkieri. They believe that Malkier is going to be built up again."

Nynaeve could swear the air had gotten more tight. The fire on the hearth seemed merciless hot now. She couldn't stay here, she had to get out.

"I- I can't stay. I need air. Got to get out of here," she mumbled to herself, rising up to find herself disoriented. Where should she go? Where was the door?

"Nynaeve, are you ok?" Perrin's worried voice. It was too much. She couldn't take this anymore. Lan's death, Egwene struggling with the Tower, leaving her friends, Rand in pain, Lan's death, the pregnancy, the world fighting, Lan's death, guilt, guilt, guilt...

"NO, I'M NOT OK! I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! CAN'T BREATHE!" Her voice was loud and shrill, and desperate, so unlike her. Blackness was threatening to overwhelm her. "I can't-can't breathe. Hot, it's hot! Light! Lan, where are you?" She was looking around her frantically, the scenery shifting between the landscape in her nightmares, the Battlefield, the living room in Two Rivers, Rand's bedroom, and Egwene's study. The person inside the same room with her was also altering between all her friends, her father, Tam, and in the end it settled on Lan. But it wasn't Lan. It was Isam, his cousin.

"Noooo!"

Everything went black as she fell and hit something hard.

* * *

A shiver went suddenly down his spine, but Rhien ignored it. The wind was crisp today, sending breezes caressing his lean body. He was used to it, you could say. Growing up by the Saldaean border hadn't exactly been an exotic upbringing. The winters were longer there, and colder. His family's farm had been not far from the high mountains, and it had been a though time with hardly any income. Until that one day when his life had been changed. 

On his way to Maradon, a noble called Lord Fhriam de Mesha came over Rhien one day as he trained with his father's sword. Before he knew it, he'd been whisked away down unknown paths where he'd faced life's trials like some people face the daily chores. It hadn't been an easy path, but so far he'd survived.

A picture swam behind his eyes, unclear and misty. Something fighting to get through the fog between his mind and unconsciousness. He closed his eyes hard, willing himself to forget. Not now. Not now. Stars started blinking in the darkness, and Rhien opened his eyes unwillingly.

Someone passing by sent him a curious look, although trying to keep it discreet. He frowned. Some really didn't know how to keep their masks, and when they tried, it annoyed him. But then again, he'd been told that there weren't as many as him. He was different. Special. Not that he saw it. To him, he was just another ordinary man, working to stay alive in the times that were now. Wars and conflicts had erupted throughout the world. Bad times were coming, he could sense it.

Shifting on his feet and adjusting the sword on his hip, he let his thoughts wander. Back to a past that had led him where he was now. He had known in his bones the moment Damien revealed the last known whereabouts of **that woman** (he sneered), that strange things were going to happen wherever he went. First it had been the reaction of her name by those he asked. Then as they'd gotten violent and threatened to kill him. Now, a countless number of graves were littered around his past, forever reminding him of what dangerous weapon he was.

And then it the feeling that someone was watching his every step. Either clearing or obscuring his path, making him confused. But he willed himself to not think much of it. It was dangerous to think.

_"To think can be both your downfall and your victory. You must choose whatever it will be."_

The thought had appeared out of nowhere, and even though he couldn't put his finger on who'd told him, he knew it was someone who'd been close to him. Maybe it was Mayena. Or little Tierna. Rhien began to wonder if his little girl had grown much in his absence. And if Mayena looked just as beautiful as always. Well, he'd get to know for sure soon. His mistress had promised they'd go visit sometime soon. He only hoped it would be this week. It had been so long.

"Rhien." He was startled out of his train of thought, and spun around to see his mistress watching him, concern filling her eyes. By the look of her, the meeting had not gone as she expected. Her features were tired and weary, although he read determination in her grey eyes.

Without question, he followed the younger woman down the street towards their inn, eyes darting here and there in wariness.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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_**Author's Note: **Thanks to all of you who has read! Now be nice and do it again! And I really appreciate any kind of response, be it good or bad. So just hit the review button below and say a few words!_

_Special thanks to _

**Starlight **_- I always update (in the end)! You're a wonderful beta, thanks for being patient with me and my errors!_

**A Travelling Mord-Sith **

**Aria-Wolfstar **

**Discordchick** - Look! I updated!

**Frosteh - **_I'm doing my best! It's just that sometimes my plot bunnies decides to hide far (very far) beneath my bed! ;p_

**Mira Hopesbane - **_Let me know when you post it, and I'll be the first on your reviewer's list! _

**nightdweller**

**Kim -** _As much as I like your initiative, I have to defend myself. Even though Nynaeve has been Wisdom for a long time, she doesn't have the experience of more elderly people. She may know about childbirth and child diseases and things like that, but not the principle of how to raise a child, not to mention two at the same time. I believe it's something every new parent ask himself/herself, no matter what their past experiences have taught them. So you see my point? (Or rather understand Nynaeve's distress of becoming a bad mother?)_


	5. Chapter 4: Rumours and Rare Weeds

_**Disclaimers:** I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there's anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

_**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

_**Rating:** PG-13_

_**Author's Note:** Geez! I haven't updated in two whole months! I'm really sorry, but I hope this new chapter will make it up to you readers. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, and especially my beta -faeripuck aka Starlight! Give her an applause everyone! /standing applause/ _

_Many asked me what the secret was in "Blossom of Life", and I'll tell you now: When you find the clues I've laid out and figured the secret, let me know. :)_

_Well, I won't say anymore, other than ENJOY! _

**

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER FOUR - Rumours and Rare Weeds  
**_by neela_

* * *

Outside, the sun was shining brightly. Already the lunch bell had sounded down in the training yards, and people were scattered around the green fields surrounding the white stone. There were young boys, come to teach the ways of older men, and women -come to be taught about the hidden fountain inside them, or wielding of the sword. 

From a window far up, a young woman stood contemplating at how much had changed. Her chocolate-brown hair danced in the slow breeze, dark tendrils falling loose from the delicate knot at the back of her head. Dark orbs traced the lines of houses, walls, bridges, people and animals as the minutes dragged by. In the far distance, she saw again the looming presence of hard rock, shooting up in the air. When she was younger, the mountain had terrified her. When she was growing up, she found it scary and dominating. Now, however, it was a reminder that times had changed, that people had changed and that she had changed.

The woman sighed. The ache in her heart that had been diminished for a long period of time, had chosen the time to reappear. At the day when so much news had reached her. Both good and bad. And some undecided. It was difficult not to flee to her rooms and shut herself in for the rest of the day. Just to escape those demons that followed leadership.

A year ago, she'd accepted the responsibility like a newborn baby. Careful and afraid. Afraid that she would fail those who relied on her. When the battle had ended more than four months ago, she'd worried herself sick about what to do next. They'd lost so many in the Battle, and Darkfriends were still roaming the world. So much happened in those few hours that she was at a loss.

But then **he** had come, she smiled, and helped her using his expertise. No one knew of them, of course. They'd kept their relationship secret, but she was sure her friends had at least some idea of what was going on. Rand had sent her a secret smile last time he come to visit, and said: "I may be blind, Egwene, but I see more than people would believe. He had better take good care of you, or there'll be many to compete about who gets to kill him." She'd laughed then, and kissed Rand's cheek.

Leaving the window and descending the stair, she went straight to her desk. It was beautifully handcrafted, given to her by an unknown person in the early months after the Uniting of the Two Towers. There was no letter, no explanation at all, except the carving at the very bottom of the desk. It was words of the Old Tongue, saying something like, "The only true wisdom lies in knowing that you don't know everything." At first, it hadn't made much sense, but now... well, at least she understood its point. It was advice to her, she'd realized, one that she should stick to. And that she planned to.

Egwene opened herself to the Power, and let Air pull back the high-backed chair behind her desk. Picking up a stack of documents waiting to be signed on her way, she sat down. Finding the stole twisting its way around her upper-arms, she quickly rearranged it, going into full "Amyrlin mode". There were still some things that needed to be taken care of before her Keeper showed up again.

For what seemed like hours, Egwene read and reread documents and letters sent from all around the world, signed those she approved, put aside those she still considered, and threw those she wouldn't sign. There were all sorts of letters, but those which intrigued her most, were a plain white scroll sealed with the unmistakable seal of the Lord Dragon Reborn, and another from her eyes-and-ears in Tarabon. She read Rand's letter first.

Clearly, it was written by a woman's hand. The man was blind after all.  
_  
Dear Egwene _

After our last meeting, I have been thinking about your proposal, and I think that we should go through with it. If we can stop the rebellion before it erupts, causing consequences I'd rather not think about right now (with all the other things going on), then let us start as soon as possible. I was thinking about paying a visit the 26th of Maigdhal. Please reply as soon as possible. We need to begin making a strategy.

Yours,

Rand

Egwene didn't know if she should squeal in joy, sigh in despair or rage. He was so changed, he made even a letter signed 'Rand' sound boring and official. Her thoughts longed to wander back to their meeting, where they'd discussed the world's situation, but a knock on the door disrupted her. She sat up straighter, and called whomever it was to enter.

The door opened slowly to let in Beldaere, Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, and her Keeper of the Chronicles. He was a stout Borderlander, about six feet, broad-shouldered and with a grin that made most Novices and Accepted - even some Aes Sedai! - blush and giggle like a tavern girl. His short, black hair danced in front if his eyes as he walked forward, his steps gliding like a wolf's.

When Egwene had united the Two Towers, the big question had been how to integrate the men and women. Her first step had been to unite classes, proclaiming a law which said that there would be no all-girls or all-boys lessons. Then she'd arranged so that men could also enter the Hall of Sitters. In fact, she told them that from now on, four Aes Sedai would represent each Ajah -two female and two male. And she'd given the male channelers the same rights and titles as the females. There would be no segregation or discrimination in **her** Tower.

As for Beldaere, they had met during the preparations for Tarmon Gai'don about a year ago when her last Keeper, Siuan, had left the Tower to liv a life with her new husband, Gareth Bryne, straight after the Battle, the man in front of her was the first person on her mind to take the position. Egwene trusted him. And so did her loved one, she thought with a inwardly smile.

"Ah, yes. Beldaere, I am glad you could come." She rose to greet him, and offered him a seat opposite of her. "Please sit down."

"Do I assume right that I am called here about the kitchen incident?" He asked as soon as she'd arranged her stole again. She found herself suddenly agitated, thinking back to the report he'd given her this morning.

"Yes," Egwene replied somewhat thoughtfully. "I must say, a Novice with the gift of Foretelling isn't something you come across every day. The last one I knew was killed in the Battle," she added quietly. Seeing the look her Keeper sent her, she hurried on. "Well, I have been thinking all day about the Telling, and analyzed it in two ways, but I do not know which one I should follow."

"If I can be of any assistance, Amyrlin-"

"Oh stop that nonsense, Beldaere, it's only you and me here. I told you to call me Egwene." She smiled when he quickly threw his gaze down, then looked up again.

"Then if I can be of any assistance, _Egwene_, I am here." They shared a small smile before Egwene continued, rising up from her chair and walking around the room as she talked.

It was a habit she'd developed during the last years. Whenever she was talking, either to herself or someone else, she preferred to walk and talk rather than sit and talk. It reminded her too much of the boring Hall of Sitters meetings. And normally she was too agitated to sit down.

"If I remember correctly, what the Novice said was: _The chain is broken. The Crane can fly again_. Am I right? Beldaere nodded. From that - and experience- I have two different meanings, both a little thin, but possible.

"The first is that the Telling is referring to the uproar in the North. I have yet to receive further reports from those countries, so I cannot say anything for a fact right now. The Telling could be a warning that we should pay heed to as we continue our plans. Rand knows nothing of this yet, but I do think he would have agreed.

"The second," Egwene paused, letting her eyes wander across the embroidered wall hanging in hesitation. "Is that is revolves around Him."

It happened quickly. Beldaere stood up suddenly behind her back, his chair scraping across the floor. Just the reaction she expected. "How-" He stopped, taking a deep breath. She turned around slowly. At once Egwene saw the shine of hope in his eyes. "What made you believe something like that? Have you heard anything?"

Egwene sighed, reaching up to massage her temples. For a brief moment she wished for her lover's gentle hands, but sensing he was elsewhere, she could only sigh. The air was tight with hopeful tension. Walking slowly over to her desk, she gestured for him to sit down again. Leaning backwards in her chair, she placed her palms against each other, and took a deep breath.

"No, I haven't heard anything. I am not even sure if its possible, but a part of my heart is saying yes." He gave her a bewildered look. "Don't get your hopes up, please. For all I know, he's as dead as he was when we found him."

"But how can you say that? The body was so burned and mistreated that it could have been someone else we found."

"Beldaere, he wore the Sword." As she said this, Egwene's gaze went to the sword hanging above the fireplace. It was three feet long, and looking as new as it always had. Old memories swam to the surface. Her eyes misted. He always wore it.

At this, her Keeper silenced, hanging his head in defeat. Silence stretched on mercilessly, until he rose. She kept quiet as he started walking around in circles, waiting for him to talk. For a few moments, only the soft tapping of feet against floor sounded, then Beldaere stopped, locking eyes with her.

What made you think it was **him** the Telling was about?

Egwene thought about that one. She didn't even know why; it was like her gut told her so. Like in her Dreamwalkings.

"I'm not sure. Call it a stray feeling, a hunch, gut instinct, anything!" She sighed, continuing in a resigned voice, " In the end, it's still a feeling, and I cannot trust wholeheartedly in my feelings. I need some facts to build upon it." A thought appeared in her mind. The report from Arad Doman. "Perhaps..."

She rushed towards the desk, past Beldaere who rose an eyebrow. Searching through the documents, she found the report beneath the letter from Rand. Fingers plucked at the wax seal, rolling the scroll out and her eyes flew over the paper in quick reading. Her eyebrows went to the roof as she quickly and effectively decoded the message from her eyes-and-ears. The Telling was already forgotten, giving room for the new information on the piece of paper before her. Was it really true? Had she survived the conflict?

"Egwene? What does it say? Is it about him?"

Shaken out of her thoughts, the young Amyrlin turned towards her Keeper, unbelieving eyes trained on the letter. When she saw the look Beldaere sent her, she understood what a fool she must look like, and forced the turmoil of feelings inside her down. Egwene took a deep breath.

"No, it's not. My eyes-and-ears says that the Gwiddon passed less than two weeks ago, heading east over the mountains." A stunned silence followed. Beldaere just stood his guard, disbelief shining in his eyes. He too forgot about their earlier conversation. His hand had flown to the handle of his sword, Egwene noted briefly. If he hadn't been looking straight at her, she would have believed he was searching every creek of the room for possible dangers. She didn't know if that was a good thing.

"She's still alive?" His voice, ever the calm and steady, even in the midst of combat, was _almost_ trembling. From the back of her head, Egwene remembered his wife who'd been killed shortly after Tarmon Gai'don. It had been staged like a bandit raid, but it reeked of _saidar_. Evil _saidar_ that was. Beldaere had the rare ability to sense traces of the Power, even a day afterwards, and if he'd encountered the same 'scent' before, so to speak, he would know who'd channeled. And he had unfortunately met the same 'scent'. While he was protecting her, during the Battle.

Egwene pondered his question. Was she really alive? Or had her eyes-and-ears mistaken her for someone else? Should she trust the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Sensing her Keeper's stare, she scratched her chin slightly.

"I cannot say so for certain. This calls for an investigation." A plan was already forming in her head as she walked back to her desk. She didn't, however, sit down. "I want you to pick out three capable and trustworthy Aes Sedai." _That makes ten-twelve possible candidates. _"They must be experienced with linking and fighting an opponent with much higher Power than themselves, and know the ways of Travelling." _Five left._ Beldaere nodded quickly, eyes clouded. "And Beldaere?" He turned from the half-turned position he'd entered, ready for dismissal. Egwene gave him a long look. "We will discuss our earlier subject at a later date. This is a matter of urgency. The Hall of the Sitters do not need to know this," she added. The man's lips twitched in a smirk. This was a familiar routine with these kinds of missions. "And I do not plan for you to be one of those three. You're dismissed."

As Beldaere left, Egwene let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and slumped into the chair beside her. The Amyrlin role was taking its toll on her. Reports, meetings, decisions, more reports and decisions. It was tiring work. And with the Telling and the Gwiddon... She suddenly wished her mentor was here with her. With the wise and stern Nynaeve in the Tower, those trying to throw her out would perhaps put the plans on ice. Everyone respected the young woman, wherever she might be. She was the Arwres after all. Egwene chuckled as she imagined what her mentor would have said when she heard the World had proclaimed her a Heroine of the Age. _"Heroine?! I'm no twit-lacking, foul-mouthed, presumptuous girl with too much diffidence to only rely on violence to gain honour!"_ Oh yes, el'Nynaeve Mandrogoran would be furious at her for allowing "_something so idiotic!"_ for happening.

Feeling suddenly tired, Egwene felt her eyes close and her mind blanking out. She never noticed the bundle of emotions at the back of her head growing stronger and stronger, or the door opening quietly and a person creeping in on silent feet. Not until she was lying on the floor, a pair of hands running across her belly in tickling motions, and laughing insanely into the mischievous face of her Warder and lover.

* * *

Warmth surrounded her as she gradually let go of the blackness, surprised that she felt scared about leaving the vast space. A multicoloured fog swam in front of her eyes, blurring the scene around her. Very gently, details of a little bedroom with a hearth in one end, sharpened, and she scanned it with her eyes half-closed. 

She was lying in a bed, snuggled under a number of soft comforters. The outlines of a wardrobe filled the corner of her eye on her right. Opposite of the room, a chest stood right beside the hearth, along with a washstand. The door leading out of the room was right in front of her, but it was blocked from her view by a broad-shouldered silhouette.

Suddenly, something wet hit her face. It was a moist cloth, and someone was carefully stroking over her damp cheeks. As soon as it was gone, she opened her eyes, locking them with piercing black orbs above high cheekbones.

"Lady Nynaeve, you are awake." Faile said matter-of-factly as she returned the cloth she'd just used to the basin on the washstand. "We were beginning to worry."

Nynaeve tried to sit up, and groaned as some parts of her body ached. Memories came back to her in a hurricane, and she remembered falling down hard. Her hand reached down to her swollen belly. "How long have I been out?"

This time, Perrin spoke up, looking at her with relief. "You were just entering the fourth hour. Here, let me help you." He said quickly as she propped herself on the bed, and helped her into a sitting position. Faile came over and rearranged the pillows behind Nynaeve's back. Nynaeve felt quite sour at having to be taken care of. She could do so perfectly herself! Help wasn't necessary!

Then she stopped. Fourth hour?! How come they hadn't woken her up? Surely they'd hadn't thought she needed the sleep?

**Do you think they haven't seen the circles under your eyes that you've tried so desperately to hide?** her little voice came out of nothing. **Do you think they haven't seen by your demeanour what lack of sleep has done to you?**

Nynaeve could feel a headache building up, and just wanted to scream in annoyance, but something nagged her brain. Despite the circumstances, she'd slept far longer than she had at night-time and she felt more refreshed than ever. Perhaps they hadn't been such bad judges after all.

Mentally telling herself to calm down, Nynaeve turned to Perrin, opening her lips as she did so only to let out a gasp as something connected to her womb. It was more than just one foot or hand -that was for sure! It had to be twice as much as usual, and for a moment, Nynaeve grew worried that something was wrong. Then common sense came back to her, and she told herself to stop being so ridiculous. Of course nothing was wrong, it was only her children wanting to say hello. They'd often awaken her like this, especially after her regular nightmares. She grimaced. If they only could have found another way to do it.

Reaching down, she began stroking her belly affectingly, a smile tugging her lips. "Hush, children. Mama is awake, nothing is wrong. There's nothing to be worried about." As Nynaeve continued murmuring comforting words, the kicking died down to just soft thuds.

Suddenly quite aware she was not alone, she ceased her talking, and looked up at her audience.

Perrin was staring longingly at her stomach, his hands twitching, while Faile stood behind him, staring first at Nynaeve, then her husband. A secret smile touched her beautiful features. The ex-Wisdom sent her a vast, knowing look, to which the Saldaean quickly averted her gaze so she wouldn't break into a grin. Their moment was destroyed when the Lord of Two Rivers coughed. Both women turned to him. He looked grave, yet nervous.

"Nynaeve, I have been thinking," he said somewhat hesitantly. "With your progressing pregnancy -not to mention that you're having twins- and living alone in a cottage in Westwood, I have a proposition for you. From what I have learned, a pregnant woman will have more difficulty in the last months of her pregnancy, and therefore I would want for you to move from your cottage to Emond's Field. Help will be more available here." Perrin quickly averted his eyes from hers when he saw her glare, afraid she would unleash the hormonal anger coming with pregnancy.

And she was, indeed, already fuming. Who was he to tell her what to do? She'd managed so far, why not until the very end? Nynaeve threw off the covers, sitting up in quick motions, ignoring the headache she felt. Through gritted teeth, she made her reply as she slipped into her shoes. "I thank you for your concern, Perrin Aybara, but I will not move! I can take care of myself, and if it happened that I do need help, I will call for it." She stood up, found her cloak and money purse laying across the chest and put it on. Turning to Faile, and refusing to meet Perrin's stare, she made a curt nod. "Thank you for your kind hospitality, Lady Faile, but I must be off. Tam al'Thor is waiting for me at the market. Good day!"

And she was off; out the door, down a staircase, through a long hall past the door into the living room, and out on the large open place before the mansion. When she had reached the market place Nynaeve did stop, and she mentally slapped her head. Her anger was dissipating and she saw the error in her past decision. Perrin had only been kind and thinking of her well-being, and what had she repaid him with? A show of rage and ungratefulness. Well, she had thanked them, but it had been said with spite almost.

_Your anger is doing no good for you, Nynaeve,_ she thought. _Next time you see them, apologize and make amends. But not today. It is already late. You must find Tam and get home.  
_  
Smiling grimly, Nynaeve turned to the market place. The market wasn't as large as it had been in the bigger cities, like Lugard, Caemlyn and Ebou Dar, but it was big on the Two Rivers scale. Spotting the herb merchant she had seen this morning, Nynaeve discreetly looked around to find Tam, but she could not see him.

_Probably at Winespring Inn and speaking with the Village Council,_ she thought, and proceeded to the sales wagon. It had a fresh look about it, with new paint and decorative flowers along the sides, and reminded her of the Tuatha'an. A woman in her late fifties, dressed in what Nynaeve recognized as common Lugard clothing, greeted her as she approached.

"Good day, madam, what can I get you this fine afternoon?" Instantly, she knew this was a woman she could like. She had a somewhat motherly air about her yet business like.

"What can you offer?" Nynaeve inquired, looking with interest at the herbs and weeds on display. There were many which she recognized as local and regional plants that she could find herself, but there were some that looked foreign and peeked her interest. Perhaps they were from the Seanchan, the countries at the other side of the Aiel Waste, or even the Blight itself. "What are their abilities?" She pointed to a variety of the foreign herbs. The merchant started explaining about each of the seven herbs, and Nynaeve kept asking questions. This seemed to enjoy the older woman immensely -it was not every day you met a customer who knew exactly what she was talking about.

As Nynaeve studied the weeds, the woman suddenly disappeared into her wagon, reappearing shortly after with a box in her hands. She motioned Nynaeve to come closer; obviously she wanted some privacy from wandering eyes. Interested, she sat down on the stair up to the wagon, next to the woman.

"When you came to me today, I could see in your eyes that you have experienced much evil in your life." The older woman looked at her kindly, giving a sad smile. "The world is filled with dangers, and everyone faces them once in a while yet I believe you have had more than your share dear. It is time you have some joy too, and you will with the life growing inside you, but I sense that will not complete your happiness."

The merchant opened the box, carefully picking up a knurled and fowl-stench weed.

"This is a weed from the Eastern border of the Aiel Waste," she said. "It is picked from a red flower growing in a certain valley. It is very rare and very powerful. When a third of this plant is cooked, the aroma is enough to relieve any level of pain a person might experience. There's a legend saying that if you eat it, a great evil error done to you will be redone. Once there was a young woman who lost her whole family and kin in one big earthquake caused by an evil spellbinder. She'd heard of this plant, and wished for her family and kin to live again, so she ate it." The merchant stopped for a dramatic silence. Nynaeve was actually soaking up every word she said. "Her wish came true. The whole family and kin came back to life like if they had never been affected by the earthquake. The woman's sister is actually a direct ancestor of mine."

Nynaeve was silent for some time, contemplating what had just been told her. When she grew up, she'd learned that legends and myths could and could not be true. Yet this story... Something in her wanted to believe what the woman has said, but the Wisdom in her told her it was just old superstition. She couldn't decide what she should believe. Her hand grasped the money purse attached at her waist.

"How much for that weed?"

"No price, dear," the woman said with a smile. "Only that you promise not to tell its secret, or use it on others than yourself and your family. Not many have faced as much evil as you have or have so much knowledge about herbs like you do." Nynaeve returned her smile.

"You are too kind, even to a stranger. Thank you."

"My pleasure, dear. An old woman like me hasen't much to look forward to, but you have. I wish you well in the future with the little one." She patted her hand as she handed Nynaeve the box containing the weed.

"I'd like a few of that darkwood moss also," Nynaeve said. The woman smiled wide and winked at her.

"I would have guessed it peeked your interest. Let's go back and I'll wrap it up for you." They returned to the display of herbs. The merchant found the desired moss and wrapped it inside a cloth before handing it to the younger woman. Nynaeve began to open her money purse, but the other shook her head.

"It's free, dear." Smiling as always, she bid Nynaeve farewell. "May your child grow up to be the most beautiful flower in the garden."

She waved her goodbye, and then went off to find Tam, in a much better mood than before. This day had been long, but at least she had gained something. Nynaeve actually felt refreshed. The older woman had hit very close to home, but there was just something about her that made any angry comments from her dwindle into nothing. Perhaps she would find joy in life after all.

Just as she rounded the corner to Winespring Inn, Nynaeve bumped into the one person she hated most in the Two Rivers. Standing regally as if she were the queen of the world, the dark-haired Athena Coral smoothed the creases in the shawl which recognised her as Wisdom. Nynaeve gave her a glare, and moved to get past, but the other woman would not let her get away that easily.

"Mistress al'Meara! What a nice surprise! I was just talking to Tam al'Thor, and began thinking of you." The smile she gave Nynaeve was with no doubt the most oily she had ever encountered in her lifetime.

"How are you faring, dear?" Her motherly tongue made Nynaeve wanting to tighten the woman's shawl so her face would go deep red. " Are you getting on well with the pregnancy with that man of yours six feet tall?" Athena scuffed as she remembered the stranger appearing in Two Rivers more than five years ago, " who is taking care of you? I would not doubt for a second you will need someone soon."

Nynaeve was ready to blow. Who was she to talk of Lan that way?What right did she have? She glared at the Wisdom. The woman's scornful eyes was measuring her up and down; you could see the thoughts swirling around inside that head. 'Is she treating herself well? Probably not. Is she sleeping enough? Obviously no. Is she eating alright? She's far too skinny. Is the death of her husband tearing her apart, and will it make her a bad mother? With no doubt.'

Nynaeve struggled to not grimace at the Wisdom and turn tail.

"I am doing fine, Mistress Coral. Everything is as it should be, and I'm being looked after," she replied through gritted teeth. "Now, don't you have anything to do? People to cure? Because I am in a rather hurry to get home." The sharp look the other woman sent her almost made her lash out. It was clear that Athena Coral thought her to be mad for living so far away from town, and in the Westwood of all places! Turning around before receiving an answer, she stopped for a second, saying quietly: "And it's el'Nynaeve Mandrogoran, not Nynaeve al'Meara. Do not forget." With that, she left her whole body a turmoil of feelings and thoughts.

By the gate, she ran into Tam readying the horse and wagon for the journey home. She noticed he'd filled up the cart with a variety of food and items -apparently he'd spent quite some time at the market today. When he saw her approaching, the broad-shouldered man stopped what he was doing and went straight to her. Enveloping her in his arms, he guided her gently to the wagon.

"I can see this day has taken its toll on you. How about I take you home right now?" Tam asked softly. She could feel herself nod in reply. She wanted nothing else than to get home. So much had happened -conversations with Perrin and Faile, fainting, listening to the herb merchant telling her of herbs and losses, and encountering Athena Coral. With her current state, this was indeed too much for her.

Soon the wagon was ready and Tam climbed up sitting with one arm around her shoulders to steady her as they went. Despite her earlier discomforts with riding a wagon, Nynaeve fell into a uneasy sleep.

She dreamt of herbs, Moghedien, the Dark One, and Rand's blindness. Moghedien was waving the weed in front of her face, but she could not reach it because the Dark One was torturing Rand. And Rand was screaming how it was Nynaeve's fault that he was blind, and that Lan had never really loved her.

Tam woke her up when they arrived at her cottage, and she dragged herself inside. Leaning back in her favourite chair, she didn't notice her companion loading food off the wagon and setting it on the table, or putting her to bed when she fell asleep a second time, or when he left and there was nothing outside except the shadow lurking around the corners of her cottage.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**

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_**Author's Note: **Well, now who can the mysterious Warder of Egwene's be? Phew! I've really outdone myself! More than 5300 words -10 pages in MicrosoftWord! :) Hope you've enjoyed it, and will continue to read! Please leave a REVIEW and make my day!_

Gwiddon (Welsh) **means ** _Witch  
_Arwres (Welsh) **means** _Heroine_

_**QUESTION: **Can anyone tell me how you get the archives to show the recommended stories? I remembered the administration guys had written something about it on the main page after you'd logged in, but it's gone now. Something about replacing the 'php' in the link with three other letters. Any ideas anyone? I'd be really happy if someone knew! :)_

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_Special thanks to_

**Frosteh - **_I'll just get my weapons lisence first, then I'll startrounding up those little bunnies!_

**Starlight - **_My words is not enough for expressing my gratitude. If I'd met you now, I'd give you a bone-crunching bear hug!_

**Aria-Wolfstar** - _You better get those chapters rolling! I'm waiting! :)_

**lannynaevefreak - **_I love them too! Lan and Nynaeve just rocks! I'm glad you like this story!_

**discordchick - **_Thank you!_

**A Travelling Mord-Sith - **_I'm thrilled that you like my story!_

**nightdweller **- _Nah, you're probably right. 'Ok' is a bit too modern. I think I changed the error, but I don't remember. ;p_

**Neviwyn - **_Glad to see you're still with me! I hate writer's blocks too -they're mean little things, always destructing.. I really enjoyed your story, so if there's anything, just ask. :) Hope this chapter was up to your expectations._


	6. Chapter 5: Being the Hunted

_**Disclaimers:** I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there's anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

_**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

_**Rating:** PG-13_

_**Author's Note: **Thanks to_** discordchick**, **Aria-Wolfstar**, **Frosteh**, **A Travelling Mord-Sith**, **Starlight**, **F75**, **Neviwyn**, **Lan's Mashiara**_ and _**Camilla Sandman**_ for their wonderful reviews! This chapter is dedicated to you all! _

_It has taken a long time, but I've finally finished the chapter. Due to computer problems, I have not received the betaed version, but _faeriepuck_ gave me the green light to post. So read and enjoy!_

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**I Will Find You **

**CHAPTER FIVE – Being the Hunted  
**_by neela _

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"Where do you want me to put this?" Tam asked her, tapping the newly built chest with his foot. Nynaeve was sitting in her reading chair, hands full of textiles, needles and threads, and a piece of paper with instructions in front of her. She looked up at him, giving him a grateful smile. With her children coming in three months time, her cottage was facing some serious redecoration. Cribs had to be made, clothes had to be sewn, and all the other small things that had to be ready for their arrival. Tam had also been ever helpful, building whatever she needed, while she rested, ate, followed nature's call and tried desperately to control her hormones.

"If you could put it by the crib in the bedroom, that would be nice," she told him with a smile. "You're an angel, you know."

Tam grinned sheepishly. "Only doing what any witting man would do if he was the friend of a female rather hormonal-angered Emond's Fielder. Not to mention that she has once been the Wisdom and reigned the village with her little finger." He quickly docked for the bundle of wool that went soaring in the air past his head. Chuckling, he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving her to fume all she wanted. _The nerve! _She thought angrily, clutching the remnants of wool in her lap. Eyeing the paper now lying crumpled on the ground, she gave an irritated cry.

"Why do I even bother -I will never be able to sew!" With that, she threw everything over the armrest and let it lie there on the floor as she rose. Perhaps she should lay the project on ice, having one of the village women to sew clothes for her. The clothes would at least not rip apart at the slightest movement then. Folding the ruffled blanket she'd covered herself with, Nynaeve turned around to drop it in the chair, but stopped mid-way as a sharp and furious kick connected with her womb.

"Ouch!" Nynaeve cried as she bent over, loosing the blanket on the floor. From somewhere, Tam appeared instantly at her side, holding her steady as she clutched her swollen stomach. She could sense him calling to her, but her only concentration was on the children's movements, as the kicking increased and she barely stood on her feet. This was not an unusual event. The children tended to let her know when they sensed her distress and anger. If they agreed or disagreed with her feelings, however, was a mystery, but every time she managed to calm down, they did so too. Perhaps there was some truth to the saying that in the last three months of pregnancy, a woman should relax and avoid stress and restless feelings.

What felt like hours later, the kicking decreased and she felt herself relaxing. Only then, she noticed that she was back in the chair with Tam moving his hand in soothing circles at her back, and it felt surprisingly good. Nynaeve sighed, revelling in the good feeling that came from the back rub. Turning her head, she locked eyes with him.

"Thank you. It feels good." He returned her smile, and withdrew his hand. She leaned back. "The children is very restless, and I cannot fathom why."

"Oh, I'm sure they're just taking after their mother. She seems to never be able to sit still." Tam winked at her, before turning to the fireplace and adding more wood. Autumn was approaching fast, and the days were getting colder. In addition to making her a crib and new chest, Tam had gone over her cottage and re-isolated the walls and roof where the old isolation had withered down. He'd been the ideal neighbour, gentleman and friend, helping her as her pregnancy progressed. Currently, she was experiencing difficulty in walking, doing heavy chores like cleaning the floor and windows and lifting, and washing her laundry in the stream nearby. Tam had been there at once/realigning/ a part of the stream to pass by her cottage, so she wouldn't have to go so far. He really was an angel.

_"Are you still sure you don't want to move into town, Nynaeve?"_ Tam had asked some days after she'd met Perrin and Faile, learning of the Lord's suggestion from the man the day after. She had told him 'no' at once, and there had been no complaints, no convincing. Just acceptance, albeit a grim one. It was a thing she liked about the man, that even though he didn't agree with her, he still helped making the days pass easier for her at the cottage.

Perrin, however, was another case. Merely five days after she'd been to town, he came to her cottage, asking again if she would not move. She had the suspicion that he was hiding something, some deeper fact that he knew but would not share with her. Though, she thought no more of it as she ushered him out of her home, telling him she would move the day the sun turned green. After that, he did not visit the cottage again, although he never stopped asking her to move, be it through other persons, or directly to her when she was visiting town. His wife, though, had come to visit her. Several times, in fact, and she never talked about moving, only asking about pregnancies, discussing Perrin or the Two Rivers versus Saldaea, or enjoying a new meal Nynaeve had learned to cook. Her cooking skills were no match against Marin al'Vere's, but they sufficed, and she was still improving. Only sewing seemed to be the one thing she could not master. She remembered how Lan used to annoy her with that fact. She gave a little smile at the memory.

"I know that smile." She broke out of her train-of-thought, staring at Tam, the ghost of a smile still on her lips.

"I was just thinking of this memory..." Nynaeve began, the hesitated; heat was coming to behind her eyes. She was still not used to talking about Lan - it hurt so much, at least in the beginning - but ever-patient, Tam never pushed her, letting her talk whenever she wanted to. Blinking a few times to ignore the burning feeling in her eyes, she coughed and spoke again. "It - it was on the way to the Blight. The armies had camped for the night, and me and Lan was in our tent. He was putting everything together, while I was scrutinizing my skirt that had a big hole in it. He was teasing me about my non-existent ability to s-sew. Light, I made such a show of it, he could barely contain his amusement." Did she imagine her voice becoming softer? "And I was so angry, I threw him out of the tent together with a blanket, telling him to sleep outside." Nynaeve smiled. "And all he said was: _'As my Queen demands'."_

Tam smiled at her, something in her eyes saying that he was grateful to hear those little stories she told. But there was something else, something he hesitated to do. She wondered what it could be. The man opened his mouth to speak, but refrained and in stead added more wood to the fire.

"I was thinking to come over tomorrow and chop some more logs of firewood so you last through the winter. Listening to the Wind probably lets you know more accurately what weather it will be, but my old toe tells me it will be a long and cold winter," he said with a twinkle in the eye.

"I can't seem to tell you enough, but thank you," Nynaeve told him gladly. "You're are great friend, Tam al'Thor." He waved it off, murmuring something about only doing what every man would do. Chuckling inwardly, she looked out the window and saw the afternoon was quickly turning to evening. Soon it would be too dark to ride home alone, and even though the evil was destroyed, Nynaeve didn't trust entirely in the fact that Two Rivers was once again a peaceful and quiet place to live. From her experiences while travelling, she knew dangers lurked behind every corner, and past sunset were the most dangerous hours.

Despite of this, she did not point out the late hour, and instead said quietly, "Did you know, lately I have been wondering how Lan died?" Tam gave her a look of surprise, but she kind of didn't see it. She felt herself blocking out everything else around her, until it was only her voice in the darkness. "All I know is that the bond between us was broken..."

Silence, then- "Light, I don't even know if he got a proper burial!" The burning behind her eyes returned, full force. She tried to close her mouth, but it all came spilling out. "And I have this emptiness inside me, reminding me that he is dead, and I don't know how! It is so frustrating that I want to cry but even that is taken from me! There's just a burning instead of the tears I want." Burying her face in her hands, she released a hiccup, then another, and another, until she was shaking with unshed tears. A hand came to rest on her thigh, comforting.

"I know the feeling," Tam said softly from outside the darkness. "I felt the same when Kari died. I did not know what disease that killed her, but I wanted to know so hard, I barely managed to take care of Rand, who was still a babe then."

It went silent. Nynaeve found her hiccupping dwindling.

"It will get better, Nynaeve, believe me. When the children make their arrival, you will be consumed by love for them, and you will soon overcome your grief." He gave her a soft look. "Do not dwell too long on Lan's absence. Rest with the fact that he is now among his forefathers. Be happy, Nynaeve. For the children's sake." As he said the last sentence, Nynaeve felt an odd fluttering within her chest, like something being awoken. She smiled at her friend, taking his hand.

"I will," she spoke tenderly, her free hand brushing over her stomach. "I promise." Tam only gave her an appraising tilt of the head, and then stood up.

"Now, try to get some rest. It's been a long day. I will check on Isaela before I return home, see that she is comfortable for the cold night."

"And give her some extra oats, will you? She has also been very active this week." Nynaeve stood up with Tam's help and followed him to the door. "And be careful on the road. It is not safe to wander these parts in the middle of the night."

Tam flung his coat around his shoulders, and grinned at her. "And I ask again, why move here, el'Nynaeve Mandrogoran, Heroine of the World?"

She swatted him, but mirrored his wide smile. "To escape such curious nose-meddling people like you who cannot seem to leave a woman like me alone! Now get on your way!" With that she almost kicked him out of her cottage - as far as her body allowed her - and he played along, lumping across the yard with one hand on his bottom. Seeing him disappear into the stables, Nynaeve closed the door and locked all its three locks. The locks were something she had acquired in her early days here in Westwood. History claimed there to be some beast high up in the Mountains of Mist, and even if she didn't believe such fairytales, she took no chances. There could be viler things than beasts out there. The pestering Perrin for example.

Returning to the hearth, Nynaeve picked up the discarded sewing bundle and put it in the chair. Then she added enough wood for the fire to burn another couple of hours. A cold room was the worst thing she woke up to, and she was sure that another nightmare would haunt her tonight. Yet a few hours sleep was at least better than nothing.

Padding across the room, she blew out the scattered candles as she went, darkness closing in around her. She picked up a candlestick from the table, and walked through the open doorway to her bedroom. Laying her carefully discarded dress over the footboard, she turned to take off her footwear. That proved to be a difficult process, and it took several minutes of bending into weird positions and stretching her fingertips until they clasped the tip of her slippers and stockings. When she was finally in nightgown, teeth brushed and hands washed, Nynaeve was exhausted. Slipping under the soft covers, she turned on her side, releasing a tired sigh.

Falling asleep was just as difficult as the other nights. In a familiar routine, Nynaeve played with the thought of brewing something that would make her sleep, but the fear of how it would affect the children tied her to the bed. Soon, she was tossing and turning, back and forth, tossing and turning. Finally, after almost half an hour, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

_She was standing in the darkness. It felt like a thousand eyes were fixed on her, but she could not see anything. From the depth of the shadows rose voices, all calling for her. She did not recognise them. _

_"Nynaeve..."_

_Panic came to her, and she twirled around to the source of the voice, only to find the spot empty and dark. _

_"Nynaeve..." _

_It came from behind her now, and she turned, but no one greeted her. Dark, dark, dark. It was so dark. _

_"Nynaeve..." _

_"Who are you?" she called out in the emptiness, twirling again. _

_"Nynaeve... Come to me." The voice was soft and clear, but it held a mystic to it, like the pale morning dew before the sun rose to warm the earth to unlimited heat. _

_"Show your face!" Her voice was frantic. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. _

_"Close your eyes... I will guide you..." _

_"How can I trust you won't lead me to my death?" _

_Silence. _

_"Answer me! How can I trust you?" _

_Silence. _

_She closed her eyes in desperation, preparing for the worst as she felt something pull her through air. It went faster and faster. Air rushed past her cheeks. In automatic motions, her feet began to walk on the wind. Time passed, for how long she did not know. Then, _

_"Open your eyes, Nynaeve, daughter of Elnore." _

_She did. _

_Soft grass caressed her bare soles as she walked across the field. Little flowers littered the ground in a swirl of multicoloured rainbows. A narrow stream ran past her, its sounds comforting and the water cool. She trod carefully on the stones; balancing so she would not trip. Then she noticed. She was clothed in a milky white dress, with a silver belt above her belly, and there were flowers in her loose hair. Within her womb, soft thuds knocked against the walls, and she smiled. Stroking lightly across the movement, she looked towards the other side of the stream._

_In the distance, she saw mountains, high pointy knives stretching up towards the blue sky. Forests covered the slopes further down, and as far as her eye could see, there were rolling green and yellow hills, rivers criss-crossing the fields, and evergreen trees in clusters. But no farms, no villages, no people. Only the stone ruins below the mountain peaks. She began to walk as she saw the ruins. They looked familiar._

_"Where am I?" she muttered quietly while she looked around, marvelling at the content feeling that filled her belly._

_"Malkier, Nynaeve. The land that gave birth to the father of your children. The man who fought a war that could never be won, or so he thought." A clear feminine voice rang from behind her. It was familiar; in fact she knew it very well. One hand protectively on her swell, she turned. Dark eyes met dark eyes that held a joy she had not seen in a long time. _

_"Egwene…" Her voice was an unbelieving whisper. It had to be a dream, it all had to. But there, just ten feet away, stood Egwene al'Vere, stunningly beautiful as always, with a new glow that suited her well. In her features Nynaeve read happiness, delight, and love. And it was so becoming. _

_"You never came to visit, so I decided to find you," the younger woman answered with a smile that mirrored her own. "But as it turned out, you are a very difficult person to find, so I had to try _Tel'aran'rhiod_!" The laughter was soft and clear. Light, she had missed such laughter! Their eyes met again, and they both saw the need there. With swift movements Nynaeve did not think were possible for her situation, they ran into each other's arms, embracing like the long absent friends they were. _

_In the end, Egwene drew back, her grin reaching her eyes. "You have certainly grown, Nynaeve Sedai! Or should I say the little ones have!" Nynaeve let go of a relieving laugh, feeling surprisingly free and happy. _

_"Aye, you could say so! Yet there are some discomforts with their growth – their kicks are stronger." _

_"A proof that they're healthy, Nynaeve. So you told me that time Kimrey Dowtry walked with hers and Bar Dowtry's child." _

_"It is good you at least picked up some of the things I said to you. I remember that I was afraid you were too smitten with Rand at the time." _

_"Well, not any longer," Egwene replied with a secret smile. _

_"So how is Gawyn? Any encounters with Gray Men lately?" Nynaeve teased, recalling the excuse she received those times she found the couple busily claiming the other's lips in the small hallways and secret rooms within the Tower. Egwene went deep red, trying to put up a glare but failing immensely. Instead the women laughed at old times, Egwene gesturing for Nynaeve to sit down on a stone bench that suddenly appeared. _

_"You have improved your skills, Egwene," Nynaeve said as she sat, smoothing out the curls in her dress as she did so. Egwene sat down besides her, smiling. _

_"Of course I have, or else I would not have managed to bring you here. I could have appeared in one of your dreams, but I needed to speak with you so you could answer me." Her face turned serious. _

_"What is it?" Nynaeve asked, an uneasy weight landing in the pit of her stomach. _

_"I chose this place, Malkier, to meet you. No one would in their mind imagine I am talking with you, and certainly not here." The other woman shifted, locking eyes with her. _

_"Tell me what you think of, Egwene? I do not have a good feeling about this." _

_"As we speak, two riders are taking the path over the Mountains of Mist, Nynaeve. Their agenda is not good. They are coming for **you**." _

_Nynaeve had trouble describing the emotion swirling within her. Something between apprehension and fear. "Who are?" _

_Egwene gave her a long look. "The Gwiddon and her companion." _

_Nynaeve felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been released over her. "She's still alive?" she whispered. "Did she not disappear into the World of Unliving?" _

_"Indeed she did, we both – and the entire Hall of Sitters – watched the event," the young Amyrlin answered bitterly. "But somehow she has wormed her way into this world again. And with her travels a dangerous man. I have from a reliable source that she is coming for you." _

_She gazedat Egwene with newfound suspicion. Something was not quite right. "What is it you're not telling me?" _

_Sighing, Egwene took Nynaeve's hands in hers, but for comforting herself or her mentor, Nynaeve did not know. "Two weeks ago, I received a message from my eyes and ears in Arad Doman who had spotted the couple travelling through the land. I sent immediately three of my trusted and most experienced Aes Sedai to hunt them down. Seven days ago, they were all slaughtered in an ambush." _

_"How do you know this?" _

_"When I heard nothing from them in three days, I sent my Keeper to their last known location. He found them not long from the border to Tarabon. It was a brutal scene, too horrible to retell, but miraculously one of the Aes Sedai was still alive. With his last breath, he told Beldaere how a single unchannelling man had taken them down as apples in a tree. The Gwiddon had taken no part in the battle. The man killed them all with his sword." The younger woman looked out over the landscape.Staring at her, Nynaeve wondered if she was only imagining the tired lines on that beautiful face. "I have yet to discover his identity." _

_But as Egwene's voice dwindled, Nynaeve closed her eyes in remembrance. A hand went immediately to her stomach, lying there protectively. "Rhien…" she muttered below her breath. _

_"What did you say, Nynaeve?" _

_"Rhien t'Aldar," she spoke, bitterness underlying her words. "A Saldaean soldier who holds a big grudge against female channelers after his wife and child was killed by one. The Aes Sedai was one of the Black Ajah, who I had been sent to bring in for questioning. Remember?" _

_"The man who believed you were the one responsible for his family's deaths?" Egwene gasped unbelievingly, recalling the event._

_"The one who escaped the Tower's prison just a few weeks before the Battle?" Nynaeve asked rhetorically. "That is the man. He and Lan are the only men I know whom can defeat powerful channelers by themselves, and well," she stopped for a moment, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Lan is gone." _

_The younger woman gave her with a sad look, before embracing her. "I am sorry, Nynaeve. I should have said so that day you left – I do not know why I didn't. It is a disaster for him to be gone so soon." _

_She sniffed, sensing the lump returning again, but said nothing. The heartbreaking look upon her face said more than a thousand words. _

_They stayed like that, until Egwene suddenly drew back, horror lining her features as she stared at something past her shoulder. Frowning, Nynaeve turned to see what this was all about, but was stopped as Egwene half-threw, half-dragged her up from the stone bench, and put herself in front of her, almost like a shield. _

_"Run, Nynaeve!" she cried, her voice reaching the higher tones in sheer desperation. "You must get on the other side of the stream!" _

_"Wha-" she began, trying again to look at whatever it was that turned her former pupil into a fierce protector_, _but Egwene placed herself in her line of sight. Her eyes held a fearful despair. _

_"Go! And don't look back!" _

_Nynaeve saw no other alternatives, so she ran. But the closer she got to the stream, the farther away it was. Like if she was running while someone held her in place. _

_Adrenaline pumped in her ears, in her heart, and everywhere in her body. She was breathing heavily, but kept running. Replaying Egwene's words in her mind, she refused to look back, and deep in her heart she feared to do so too. _

_Her eyes closed in a moment of trying to control her breathing. _

_An uneasy feeling that someone was watching her made her stop for a moment, looking around. And she gasped. _

_This was not Malkier. _

_She was in some sort of glade, but it did not hold the wonders of new life that Malkier had held. Its trees and bushes were brown and dead, the grass long since gone and all animal life with it. _

_Feeling desperation returning in her heart, she turned to go back, only to halt as her eyes met a pair of yellow. _

_A beast entered the glade. Its fur was ragged and dirty, and could once have been white or grey. The barred teeth were sharp needles, shining in the scarce light that escaped through the treetops, and its growl sent shivers down her spine. It took a step forward. _

_Nynaeve became very suddenly aware of how exposed she was, and vulnerable. She was standing in the middle of a glade, a perfect target for hungry creatures, and she had the disadvantage of less mobility. And with no doubt, the creature knew that. Her only advantage was that she could channel. _

_Readying herself, Nynaeve's eyes widened as she found herself unable to reach the Source. She was shielded! _

_There was no time to think, as the beast jumped at her with enormous speed, its teeth ready to sink into her flesh. She barely managed to move in the last second, a claw rasping her arm as she did. _

_A cry released her and she grasped her wound. From the corner of her eye, she saw the beast going for her again, and threw herself out of the way again. She landed hard on a stone, pain shooting through her back and made her immobile. _

_Lying there, her breath came erratically. Fear and despair shone in her eyes. Did she imagine it, or did the beast grin grotesquely? It padded slowly towards her now, sensing her immobility. Each step it made took Nynaeve further into her desperation. _

_She tried to get up on her feet, but managed only to half-sit up. Time passed very slowly. _

_Step. _

_The beast barred its teeth. _

_Step. _

_Nynaeve opened herself up for the Source again, to no avail. _

_Step. _

_Seeing her struggling, the beast growled and its eyes shone manically. _

_Step. _

_It was just a few feet away. A jump and Nynaeve would be history. Grasping her stomach with both hands, she tried to shield her children from this danger, even though she knew it was forfeited. She closed her eyes. _

_Step. _

_Step. _

_Growl. _

_Claws into the ground, preparing a jump. _

_Rustle of leaves. _

_Whoosh! _

_Howl! _

_Thud. _

_Light footsteps across the glade. Another beast? No. Another person. _

_"Nynaeve?" A familiar voice spoke to her. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking away the stars in her sight. Turning around on her back, she gazed upon her rescuer. _

_"Birgitte?" _

_The woman grinned, her bow slung across her shoulder as she held out a hand to her. Nynaeve grasped it with both hands, and was hauled up like if she weighed nothing. Closing her eyes, she held her hands on her belly for a moment; thanking the Light that everything went fine. The beast lay dead on the ground, black blood oozing from a wound in its chest. _

_"Thank you, Birgitte. Your help was certainly needed." She gave her a tired, but grateful smile. _

_"I have been hunting this beast for quite some time now, it feels good that it's finally dead." Brigitte eyed the beast, and then looked at her with a grim expression. "But it's not safe for you here yet, Nynaeve. That beast is a messenger. They are coming for you." _

_The dread came back to her now, at the woman's word. They were coming for her tonight. She had to get back to the waking world. She looked around her for some kind of exit. _

_"If you go through that arch of trees, you will come to the stream", Birgitte told her knowingly. "Cross it and you will wake up. May the Light shine on you and your children, el'Nynaeve Mandrogoran." _

_Nynaeve nodded her thanks, and began walking towards the arch. Then she remembered something, and turned to talk to Birgitte, but the woman was gone. As was the beast. She hurried through the arch then, and found herself by the same stream as earlier. Crossing it, she looked back, and with the image of the renewed Malkier, felt the world disappearing around her._

* * *

With a gasp, Nynaeve sat up straight in her bed, clutching the covers close to her. Drops of sweat ran down her face and back, and her nightgown was soaked, but she paid it no heed as she hastened out of bed. Wringing the nightgown off, she quickly put on one of her woollen dresses along with stocking and her more solid footwear –Aiel boots in soft leather. 

A hand went to her stomach to calm down the distressed children, and she murmured soft, comforting words in the darkness of her bedroom. One of the window litters were flung open by the wind outside, and moonlight was streaming in, lightening up the furniture in the room. Heart thumping wildly, she walked closer to the window, staring out towards the yard in front of her cottage. It was quiet, not a movement catching her eye.

_'Perhaps they are still on the path across the Mountains,' _she thought with a flutter of hope. _'But even so, I cannot stay here. I have to get to Emond's Field.' _

Nynaeve carefully closed the curtains, hoping to fool any watching eye into believing she was still asleep. On her way into the living room, she picked up a dark cloak and put it on. Thinking back on the incident in the glade, she checked if she was still shielded, and felt a sigh of relief leave her when she found the Source was there.

_'The beast must have been a male channeler in disguise. I would have sensed it if it were a female.' _

Treading softly across the room, she eyed the almost burnt-out hearth, before adding more wood. She needed to make it as most believable as she could. If she were quick enough, she'd be long gone when her attackers arrived. But deep in her heart, she knew that nothing was for certain. They could be waiting for her to do something like this, and ambush her on the way through the forest.

In the chest of drawers, she dug up the _angreals _she'd once used almost all the time during the War. First came the golden bracelet, attached to finger rings by four flat chains. It was engraved with patterns resembling a maze, and was her strongest _angreal_ yet. The second from her drawer was a belt, which ability was that she never drained her Power. However, after a few futile attempts to put it on, she instead realised defeat and put it back. It was too small to fit around her stomach.

The thought left her a little put out, but Nynaeve ignored the uneasy emotion and walked over to the door, readying herself for the walk to the stable. Just as her hand grasped the handle, she heard it –the sound of heavy footsteps across her yard. Time stood still. Involuntarily, she held her breath, slowly backing away from the door to the window. Through the half-closed curtains, moonlight lit up a group of unmistaken silhouettes. Trollocs and Shadowspawn.

Nynaeve gave a yelp as one of the Shadowspawn turned its head to where she stood and threw herself up against the wall. She held her breath. The movements outside halted for a moment. Time stood still. She didn't dare to move, pressing her back against the roughness of logs. Frantically thinking of what to do next, she did not notice the Trollocs coming for her door.

Bang!

They were pushing against the wooden door. At the moment, she thanked the Light for Tam and his craftsmanship. After the fateful Winternight so many years ago, he had taken to build his doors with wood and metal, making them more solid. And so he had done here. But even she knew it would not last long.

An idea came to her, and she grasped hold of the Power. It was the only solution. Weaving Air, Nynaeve lifted up the chest of drawers and put it in front of the door for barricading. Next came the table. Then the bench where she prepared her meals was put on top of the table. It would hold for the time she needed.

Drawing extra force from the _angreal_, she first weaved a Dome of Silence around a section of the opposite wall, before hurling a Ring of Explosive Fire at it. The ring seared through the wall in a matter of seconds before vanishing, leaving a hole in its wake. Clutching the cloak closer to her and putting on the hood, Nynaeve hurried out through the hole as she released _saidar_.

With a master's skill, she crept silently along the cottage wall until the forest thickened at the left corner. Blood thudded in her ears, heart beating wildly. She hunched down as far as she could, eyes darting left and right, up and down on the search for hidden enemies. They would surely have sensed her grasping the Power, and soon they'd break through the door.

A branch snapped at her right.

Nynaeve held her breath, fingers itching to weave the Power as she pressed herself against the darkened wall. Only silence met her from the among the tree trunks. From the yard, she could hear roars and commotion as the Trollocs became angered. They smelled blood. She gulped. _Her _blood.

_'You have to get away from here, Nynaeve. Leave Isaela, you cannot reach her. Perhaps they have already feasted on her…'_ She pressed her eyes tightly together at the horrible picture that brought from the depth of her mind_. 'Do not think about it. Focus. You know what to do. Get to Quarry Road, through the forest.'_

Glancing around her for hidden enemies, Nynaeve darted into the darkness of the trees, and broke into a half-run, half-trod. Her weight prevented her from full run, but she managed. For the moment.

The forest was dark, and chilly where she stepped over old roots, hid behind bushes and crept under branches sticking out from moss-covered trees. From behind her, she could hear the animal howls in the distance, and knew they'd soon catch up with her. But she couldn't stop; she **wouldn't **stop. Her breath came in halted, heavy gasps, breaking the silence of the darkness. Moonlight shone high above the trees, yet only a few rays of light escaped the branches of the treetops.

Finding herself tired, Nynaeve stopped by a large pile of rocks, leaning on one of them for balance as she tried to ease her breathing and beating heart. The children kicked furiously against her womb, and she muttered low assurances in the night. To the northwest, drums of feet hitting the ground attacked her senses, adding to her fear of not surviving.

_'Get moving, Nynaeve! Think of the children. Fight for them, don't stop now!'_

She forced herself on her feet, clutching her back as she did so. The pain was almost unbearable, and the children had certainly not ceased their worry. Another attempt at soothing them bore some fruit, at least enough for her to continue. Remembering the darkness that would meet her further on, she embraced _saidar_ and a blue flame appeared in her hand.

The minutes passed. Nynaeve stumbled among the trees, driven by the sheer force of will as the pursuers gained on her. As she stepped over a stream, the trees came more scattered, clearing up so that the moon could shower the ground before her with light. She stopped for a second, looking back. Her eyes widened in horror.

From less than thirty paces behind her, a small group of Trollocs advanced forwards, their blades reflecting the moonlight in all kinds of directions. One of them raised a horn in black, drawing breath to release a long and shattering sound that split the night. Before she knew it, she had reacted. Horn still to its goat's mouth, the Trolloc fell to the ground, hit by a severe lightening. Nynaeve felt herself slipping into old battle mode, her mind filled with the Void.

Merely three minutes later, five Trollocs lay dead on the ground; two were still burning from the Fireball she had hurled at them. Nynaeve let out a breath she did not know she'd been holding as she returned from the Void. Tiredness struck her, and she fell against a tree, barely standing. The weaving had taken a lot out of her, added with the running from her cottage.

_'There are more of them, you cannot stay here.'_

And indeed, from the north came the horns of those enemies that remained. Nynaeve turned on her heel and started the half-run again. However, after five minutes, she was forced to face defeat. The pain in her back, the tiredness in her legs, and the movements of her children had worn her out. She'd never make it to Quarry Road. With that statement in her mind, Nynaeve let herself crumble next to a cluster of bushes, hands on her stomach.

"Shh, children," she whispered below her breath, ears on alert for approaching Trollocs. "Be still, Mama needs her rest." It quieted them down a little, but the pain did not dwindle. It sent shivers through her whole body, torturing every sense.

_'I'm going to die, here, tonight. Unless the Light saves me, I cannot escape this. And my children...' _

At the thought of her children, Nynaeve felt water gather at her eyes for the first time since before Lan's death. All she had wanted after his passing was for his children to grow up and gain the kingdom he'd fought so hard for.

She could imagine their faces. There were two pairs of Lan's eyes staring at her. There was Lan's nose in the middle of their faces. Dark tendrils teasing their foreheads, while the _kandori_ held back the rest. Her heart's desire was to have two boys, and that both looked like their father, or at least had some of his characters. His calmness, his protectiveness, his gentleness.

"Oh Lan!" she cried softly, as she touched the paintedwhite dot on her forehead, willing the tears back. Tam's face suddenly appeared in her mind then. _'It is okay to cry, Nynaeve. No one could think any less of you.' _He'd said it to her after a rather painful memory of Lan had been revealed to him. She'd been distressed, but could not find comfort in his words at the time. Now, though, she felt she still couldn't. There was an emptiness inside her that told her to not cry.

As she lay there, thinking of sad and happy memories, the unmistaken sound of tramping feet reached her ears. And it came from less than thirty feet away from her. Nynaeve stopped breathing. They were coming closer, but she could not find the strength to get up and fight them. Darkness threatened to overcome her, staying at the edges of her sight as she stared up into the sky far, far above. Stars were scattered there, forming patterns and offering her comfort. A smile touched her lips, but it disappeared as a branch snapped right next to her.

Looking up, her eyes locked with bottomless black orbs. A Trolloc with hawk's beak and horse hooves eyed her with a sadistic glint in its eye. Nynaeve remained unmoving, her sight drifting in and out of focus. A rotten human hand came down on her. It was then it happened.

From somewhere, a shadow jumped at the Trolloc, forcing it down. She could hear howling and growling as darkness filled her view. Finally it would come to an end. The ground rumbled. More howls. She tried to open her eyes. The silhouette of a man against the moonlight greeted her. She thought fleetingly she saw something glinting red in his hand.

Her voice was timid in the now sudden silence.

"Lan…"

The man tilted his head slightly, before crouching down. He leaned over her, light creeping onto his face.

That's when darkness overcame her.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**

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_**Author's Note: **Thisis my longest chapter ever! More than 7000 words -I'm improving! It would be great if you readers gave me some hints about what you feel, so please REVIEW!_

_**Responds to reviews:**_

**discordchick** - _That's a mystery that will remain unanswered'till further chapters have been posted... /evil laughter/_

**Aria-wolfstar **_- Glad you enjoyed the last chapter -hope you enjoyed this one as much! About your story, I'll send you some ideas later, but right now I don't have time. (Internet at home is broken, and I have to do this at school, where my Norwegian teacher is ever-watchful...)_

**Frosteh - **_I know how it is. I love chocolate too... :D_

**A Travelling Mord-Sith **_- It will all be explained...in due time... /evil/... It's actually not that difficult to bring a new mystery into each chapter, but it causes me headaches afterwards as I try to tie it all up! I'm sorry I didn't update faster, but school's been really mean to me lately... /hates school/_

**Starlight - **_My ever faithful beta. Shall we dump the computers in the river for being so difficult-)_

**F75 **_- Glad to see you're still with me:) And that you enjoy my story!_

**Neviwyn**_ - Perrin and Faile is one of my favorite couples too, though Faile can be very difficult sometimes! _

**Lan's Mashiara - **_Thanks for reviewing!_

**Camilla Sandman - **_Kan si det samme om deg! Hadde nesten mistet alt håp om nordmenn på denne sida. :) Thanks for reading, and I hope I live up to your expectations!_

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**_Notes:_**

_**Regarding the calendar: **In the Wheel of Time, the year consists of thirteen months, one month is 28 days, and one week is 10 days. Just to keep you updated. :) _

_**Errors chapter 4: **I noticed several errors in my last chapter, but haven't gotten around to change them yet. One of them is when Athena Coral says: " Are you getting on well with the pregnancy with that man of yours six feet tall?" It's supposed to be 'under' instead of 'tall'. An embarrassing mistake, I must say... But it was 01.00 when I edited the story before updating, so bear with me... _

_**Ki'sain: **Perhaps some noticed that Nynaeve "touched the **white** painted dot on her forehead", and wondered "Wasn't the dot red?" Well, yes it is, but I looked it up in WoT encyclopaedia, wheras it says that widowed women wears a white ki'sain._

_**Errors prologue: **I read over IWFY here one day, checking if I had every fact right, when I suddenly noticed the biggest mistake I have ever made! Maybe some remember from the prologue where I said that Rhien had been on the run/search for 1 month, and that his wife was killed during the battle? Well, that was very, very wrong! So, I have gone in and rewritten the wrong parts (nothing big, only sentences). So please note that some things have been changed in the prologue. And let me know if (in the future) something's not right with what I've written earlier in the story. When you write a story of this size, it's easy to drop focus..._


	7. Chapter 6: Turn of the Tide

_**Disclaimers:** I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there's anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

_**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

_**Rating: **PG-13_

_**Author's Note:** Thanks to_** Aria-Wolfstar, discordchick, nightdweller, Ruinwen, The Evil Liar, faeriepuck, F75, flaming pinecones, Tale, Fairytale, Palanfanaiel **_and _**Taiyoukai Lady **_for their wonderful reviews!All of you who didn't review, BE ASHAMED! _

_It has taken a long time, but I've finally finished the chapter (one helluva action-filled chapter, that is). As of now I'm too impatient to wait for the wonderful, amazing, fantastic, great _faeriepuck_ to send the betaed version, so I'll just upload now:) Read and enjoy!_

_WARNING: BAD WORDS MENTIONED!_**

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER SIX - Turn of the Tide**  
_by neela

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The crackles from the fire split the silence of the night, its flames flaring up threateningly towards the sky, challenging the darkness. Occasionally a wind streaked by, making the tongues of fire dance wildly, resembling the exotic dancers of the East. At least from what he could add together of the bits of pictures, scents and emotions that dwelled within his mind. He sensed a headache was building up from the effort of concentrating on the memories. No surprise there – it always did so whenever he tried to break the block that hindered him in remembering scenes from his past.

He sighed, reaching up to massage his temples. Oddly enough, the touch of his fingers kneading circles against the sides of his head felt soothing, but not _right_. There was something – a memory or picture – beneath the surface of the block, trying fervently to break through and announce to him why his massaging did not feel right. Was it Erina's hands that were supposed to do this? The lines of his face deepened at the thought of his deceased wife.

He barely remembered her now, but some things he could picture in his head. Soft, blonde hair in a long plait; delicate red lips beneath a slightly pointed nose; eyes the deepest blue he'd ever seen. He let his mind wander for a second, thinking back to the one memory he could recall as if it had happened yesterday – that fateful day when he'd lost his family.

_He was chopping wood behind the stable, the swift motion of the axe all he could think of. He'd managed to injure himself once because of his lack of focus. Erina had scolded him and fretted over him like if he was a five-year-old boy caught with his father's – off-limits _– _longsword when he cut his finger on the sharp blade. Today he most certainly didn't want the same angry tirade followed by two days sleeping with the horses and forbidden into the house. Erina had quite the temper, especially as she warned him time and again about that axe handling of his. _

_Thud. Thud. The axe came down on the logs in strong blows. The wood split in two and fell on the ground. Just as he kneeled down to pick them up, he heard the screams. _

_Dread filled him from top to toe as he dashed from the work he was doing and back to the house, axe still in hand. The screams died as he rounded the corner, and he stopped abruptly. His eyes swept across the front yard with frightening realisation of what had happened._

_His daughter, lying four feet ahead of him in a pool of blood; her eyes were wide open directly at him. She held a bloodstained doll tightly in her embrace. There was emptiness in her eyes, and moving his stare to the doorway, he met the same empty gaze from his wife, his beloved Erina. She had apparently been carrying a basket of clothes; they were strewn around her, all bloodied. He watched the trickles of red substance as they wound their way down her cheeks. _

_He felt shattered, empty, angry, fear-stricken, mourning, and anguished – and they added up for the howl coming from the very bottom of his being. _

Rhien would never forget that day; no matter how bad memory he seemed to be having these days. It was one of those things that stuck with you throughout your life, haunting you day and night, never giving you rest – like the horrible incident with the Tar Valon witches last week. He willed himself not to think more about it. He was more than enough confused as it was.

The flames of the fire were dancing less vividly, he noticed, and rose to throw another log at it, but the present headache dragged him down heavily. It felt like his head was splitting in two, and he massaged furiously at the temples.

The first time this kind of pain happened was merely days after he and Selene had started their ride southwest from the Borderlands, where they'd been in hiding during the Last Battle. Remnants of a memory had come to him in his sleep, dragging with it a drowning feeling so that he woke up gasping for air and not knowing where he was, and with the cursed headache.

_Darkness. Cold stone. Burning skin. Chained, unable to move. Bleeding wounds. Coldness. Alone…_

Selene had soothed him then, taking care of him like she sometimes did. When he (after a lot of pressure) told her about the dream, she explained that it was from the time he was imprisoned in the Gray Tower. Apparently, he'd been talking in his sleep when they were in hiding. She said it would stop.

But it didn't.

It repeated itself night after night. One time he woke up, remembering voices tormenting him, teasing him, slowly killing his hopes.

"_Yeh still alive, bloody maggot? Come 'ere, an' I'll give yeh a real nice treat!" Maniacal laughter rang through his head. _

And the headache tortured him all through the night.

Another night was the same; only this was one of the more gentle memories. When Selene had freed him, he'd been exposed to heavy torture to both body and soul. According to her, she'd barely managed to save him from being consumed by darkness forever.

_Soft cloth across his burning skin; gently, caringly. Like Erina would do. He could hear himself murmur soft words, but he did not understand them. Someone talked to him. "Sleep, my brave warrior. You'll have your revenge."_

The memories did nothing for his head, and sometimes he went for days at end with constant pain, but he didn't tell Selene that. There was something in him that prevented him from telling her that little detail – it felt like he would reveal one of his biggest weaknesses for her to take advantage of. He didn't want that. His old training sat deep in the depth of his unconsciousness.

Short to say, trying to relive his mysterious past only brought him headaches and more food for thought. And it bothered the Light out of him. He clenched his fist, trying to force the throbbing down to a slight dull. It didn't work; his mind was too preoccupied.

Giving up the feeble attempt, he stared hard at the dwindling fire, threatening it to laugh at him. The evil laughter from his dream still haunted him at nights like this, when his defences bore down due to the lack of concentration. Usually it helped to think about how he would see his sister Mayena and niece Tierna again soon. It had been a long time since last, and he only barely remembered their faces. Tierna was bound to have grown considerably since his last visit. He could not wait 'till next time he popped by Saldaea!

Another log was thrown on the fire, the flames eating hungrily at it immediately – like wolves after a long time of starving.

That thought stirred something in him, something familiar yet strange at the same time. It was a blur of a memory – a young boy with golden eyes; everything but the golden orbs was clouded. The picture also held the feeling of uncertainty, and fear. But those were not his feelings, Rhien was sure. They were the boy's. His mind worked hard to conjure up more of his past, driving his headache to extreme measures.

Just then, someone gasped, and his eyes flew open at once, the golden eyes gone from memory. Before long he was on his feet, his sword somehow out of its sheath and in his hands. He took on a defensive stance, staring ahead of him with a cold stare. He had the feeling of who it might be.

And he was right.

From the shadows of the surrounding forest, a bundle of bloodied rags fell forward into the range of light. Rhien spat disdainfully. Taking his time to put the sword back in its sheath, all the while ignoring the wheezes and pained gasps of the newcomer, he soon strode over and picked up the rags only to drop them again beside the fire. He would not be gentle with this spiteful joke of a being.

Kneeling beside the newcomer, he found a little bag of bandages and herbs from his knapsack. He studied the person lying beside him, seeing the obvious wounds from wolves' teeth and claws all over the body. He frowned in spite.

"Hanging around with your _friends_ again…Slayer?" asked Rhien with a smirk. He only got a laboured _wheeze_ in return.

Falling back into an old routine he guessed was from the Aiel War so long ago, the man systematically and methodically cleaned the wounds – which looked suspiciously like wolves' bites and scratches – applying an herbal ointment on them before bandaging.

He couldn't quite remember where he'd learned to make that ointment, but it had been from someone dear to him. With long dark hair and fiery eyes. At that description a light flashed inside his mind, and he chuckled. How in the Light could he have forgotten that Mayena had taught him that? Evidently hearing his chuckle, Rhien's "patient" looked at him and he dropped the grin at once. He'd be damned if Slayer should evade his private thoughts.

It was three days since Selene had returned to their camp for the night (about ten miles west from here) with the man presently lying on the ground. Three days of which Rhien kept grinding his teeth for just having to be around Slayer. He couldn't explain it, but he absolutely loathed the man – from their first encounter till this moment. And all because Slayer was doing for a living what he did only when in dire need. Torment small creatures, feast on wolves, kill innocent lives. And it looked like someone had almost managed to do him in tonight. What a shame Slayer's prey couldn't finish the work.

_If you hate this man so much, why are you then tending his wounds?_ His little voice popped in suddenly.

Rhien ignored the urge to say: "Because it's what Erina would've done" and instead convinced himself it was because he pitied him. Yes, he held no love for the half-man, half-beast held, but still…

As he finished the last bandage, stubbornly looking everywhere else than in Slayer's eyes, loud noises from the forest interrupted his attending. Someone coming through the woods and from the sound of if, Rhien could tell Selene was not happy.

Packing up the knapsack, he turned to the fire once more, carefully edging away so that his back was not turned to the wounded man. Raising his chin up, he waited for the expected outrage from his mistress.

After these secret meetings in the dark, she was always angry for some reason. She would have a tirade about her Master, but never told him why. He frowned. Usually he was an excellent observer – seeing much and hearing little was no problem for him to find the cause of emotions, but with his mistress it was different. There was a shadow about her at these moments, one he wouldn't wade too deep into. If he tried to weed the information out of her, she would lash out at him.

"Argh! Where is he? Where is that foul, cursed excuse of a beast?"

Rhien looked to the source of the feminine voice, normally calm, now crazed and angry. His eyes narrowed. Selene looked to have just exited a battle; her clothes were torn in places, she was breathing heavily and there was a bruise forming above her right cheek. Sharp, dark eyes burning with anger streaked past him like he was air and settled on the man beside him.

Selene walked briskly across the clearing, hands dancing wildly around her. "I told you to capture her, NOT try to kill her!" Rhien watched secretly out of the corner of his eye as Slayer winced from the knife in his mistress' voice. It was time to play the quiet observer again.

"Tell me what happened!" she barked. "And do not play around the truth – I will know!"

"I tried to catch her – lured her into a clearing, I did – but that cursed Silverbow turned up and saved her skin!"

It pleased Rhien to see Slayer was frantic. But he was very interested as in who they were talking about. Silverbow could be none than the legendary Birgitte, but she was dead, wasn't she? Slayer must've been in the Dream World again. Rhien grimaced. The man was still talking.

"I was injured, but I tried to follow the girl until I realised she'd awoken. There was only one choice for me then, and I left the Dream World hunting for her." The man sat up, barring his teeth as he continued. "It seems your Master's creatures got ahead, because she was on the run when I arrived. I was forced to kill off a few of the Trollocs to get to her, but then a pack of wolves with that local Lord in the lead arrived and nearly did me in." Obviously nearing the end of his story, it looked like he gained some confidence. "I then returned here where Rhien," Slayer looked at him, "treated my wounds."

Selene glared threateningly at the wounded man.

"That's the truth!" the man-in-question replied quickly. The glare was replaced with a passive look. Rhien hoped she didn't believe him. It would make this night so much more interesting. But the woman Slayer had been hunting was still a mystery. He looked back and forth between the two people beside him, thinking. He needed to go over at the facts. He ignored the ongoing conversation between the others.

First, the woman was clearly a local to this area, and she could enter the Dream World. And he knew both channelers and non-channelers could enter _Tel'aran'rhiod_, so that didn't help him very much.

Now, Selene had bruises to indicate she'd been engaged in a battle. _No, that's got nothing to do with this, ask her later,_ he noted mentally.

Well, Slayer had been told to capture this woman, whoever she was, but Silverbow rescued her. As far as he knew, old heroes of the Ages past did not help people in the Dream World (from what Selene had told him), so this woman had to be special. His brow furrowed in thought.

Then it was the Trollocs sent to kill or capture her, but again she was saved by outside factors. Wolves and the local Lord. Was the Lord a Wolfbrother? Possibly. So he must've kept the wolves looking after this woman, so again she had to be extraordinary.

Every piece of information clicked then. He saw red.

He lunged at Slayer, catching the others off-guard, while he roared. Grasping the collar of the other man, he slung him across the clearing, feeling his fingers itch after his sword.

"The Tar Valon witch is **my** prey, Slayer! MINE!"

Rhien couldn't think, just act. It became a battle of strength as the other man jumped onto his feet despite of his wounds, and tried to protect himself against the raging, older man. He didn't know how many times he beat, how many times he threw or how many times he kicked the man now lying on the ground.

In the end he stood looming above the broken body. Slayer was bleeding from a broken nose and a black eye was forming on his face. The other wounds from the wolf attack had reopened and blood streamed down his grotesque-looking face. Rhien felt no compassion, only hatred. Why! Nynaeve Sedai was HIS! It was his revenge, not Slayer's!

A sputtering drew him back to reality. He realised Selene had done nothing to intervene. She stood silently behind him; he could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head.

"Agh..." Slayer moaned. He then looked up at Rhien from beneath swollen eyelids. "I was going to bring her back here! I swear! I had my orders!"

His eyes narrowed. "Orders by whom?" In response the other man looked at something behind him. No, not something, _someone._ He felt like a bucket of ice had been thrown at him. He whirled around to look straight into his mistress' eyes. Heat filled his face.

"You…" Her face remained passive. Rhien couldn't believe it! She who encouraged his search for revenge? She'd taken it upon herself to rid him of his right to kill?

With one last look at the shallow-breathing and sputtering bundle of rags at the ground, he turned on his heels and stalked into the surrounding forest. Darkness filled his line of sight, but he cared not. He felt betrayed. And to add the fact that Erina's voice had come to him while he fought Slayer left him extremely miserable.

"_Why hurt people? Why tear your soul asunder piece by piece for every hand and foot you send other people's way? It's not healthy, it's not right. Violence never leads to infinite peace."_

Rhien stopped in his tracks, looking around. He sighed heavily, but asked with spite in his voice, "What do you want, _Selene?_" He didn't bother to turn around, leaning on a nearby rock as he studied the sky. How stupid he'd been to let himself be led by that woman! Well, no more. He'd rather be on his own soon.

A rustle of leaves and the familiar sensation of her presence announced her arrival. Silence filled the everlasting minutes until she spoke.

"Something will happen later in Emond's Field. It will present you with the opportunity to fulfil your revenge. This is the moment you've been waiting for, I suggest you take it."

With that, she left, before he'd had the chance to ask about the meeting with her Master.

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Far away, at the other side of the Westlands, was a house situated within barriers of mountain and forest. It was three stories high, built in dark wood that looked gloomily old and frail in the scarce moonlight. Clouds rolled across the sky, hiding the stars and moon. 

Within this house were many rooms, but few were ever used. There was no need to. Before the Tarmon Gai'don many powerful leaders had lived in this secluded shelter shielded from prying eyes by tainted magic. Now only one remained. A man, filled by revenge so strong he would kill everyone in his way, is he or she old or young. He had servants, of course, but they were few too as he had sent the rest to every corner of the World, searching for **him**. He who vanquished his Master.

Darkness filled the room he sat in; only the flicking light from the burning hearth disturbed the shadows distractedly. He grasped the cup in his hand tightly. Strong and bitter aroma from the contents of the cup drifted through his nostrils.

He closed his eyes and sniffed deeply. With one swift motion of his hand, the cup was raised to his mouth and he gulped down the liquid with ease. The trick was to not let it touch his tongue – if it did, well, that could be a rather painful event. It had happened a few times, and he'd vowed: never again.

He considered himself lucky this time; his mind was so occupied with thoughts, he worked on automatic only. It was becoming a habit, this thing. Sitting alone before the fire in a dark room, drinking liquid far stronger than _oosquai_, thinking through recent bothersome events.

A bark of something resembling a laugh rumbled through the empty room. Scattered beams of moonlight wound their way through the dark, drawn curtains, disappearing and appearing every few minutes. There was a slight breeze going through the room, even though there was no window open. The hearth held no warmth to it – it never had since That Day; that bloody, deciding Day. He swore he would wring the cursed Lord Dragon Reborn's neck when he first got hold of him. And he felt that he was nearing his goal at each moment.

"_What do you have to report, Cyndane? No more witch burning, I hope," he said dryly, but with an underlying threat. He enjoyed the sight of his servant writhing openly in discomfort. _

"_The Fists are ready to attack, Master. They stand by at your orders." Her voice was even; he was surprised._

"_Is that so? And the Arwres?" he inquired._

"_Asleep in her home, far away from help. She will be an easy prey," said Cyndane confidently. He rose from the chair he'd been reclining in, walking around her in circles. He knew that made her nervous; he could see the slight twitches in her face._

"_Do you really believe that? She has once before proven to overcome every difficult obstacle we've thrown her way."_

_He could see it in her eyes when she looked at him that she knew of what he spoke of, and that he didn't like what she'd done. Slowly, she spoke again._

"_Am I allowed to believe anything other than you do, Master? Or am I your **pet** in every way of the word?" Anger flashed in her eyes; he loved it. The power it brought him, knowing he controlled another being, was tremendous. He decided to change the subject, leaving her question unanswered for later. _

"_What do you know of the situation in the Borderlands?" He returned to his chair. By the look of her, she'd clearly expected an answer. But today was not her lucky day, unfortunately. _

"_I would have thought you'd know more about that than a mere servant, Master." Cyndane's gaze was hard, still angered. He didn't reply, only smiling secretly, so she was forced to continue. "What has come to my ear is that the Borderlanders are stirring some sort of a riot. I do not know more than that." She gave him a questioned stare. "What exactly **is** happening in the Borderlands that would spike your interest?" _

_His smile offered no explanations as he stood up. "Nothing for you to worry your sweet little head with." He stopped for a moment, wafting his fingers carelessly in the air, considering his next move. "Just some hard-headed folks trying to raise the Golden Crane from the ashes, and trying to find the missing Heroine." He knew he'd made the right decision when the woman reacted._

"_What?" she nearly cried while turning at him in a swirl of flapping skirts. He grinned; of course that would infuriate her. It was directly meddling with her plans. He'd expected as much from her._

_But then came something he did not anticipate. She used the Power to open a gateway, despite knowing the pain she would experience at being so near her mindtrap while channelling. Before he could stop her, she was gone. And he could not even guess where she was going. This infuriated him. She would learn what it was like to leave the Master of her _cour'souvra!

Moridin didn't notice that the cup had dropped to the floor before he lifted it up to drink. He stared at the pool of fizzing liquid. Burn Cyndane for making him like this! Burn the Arwres for making Cyndane meddle with his plans!

"AAAARGH!" he roared and flung the stool he'd been sitting on across the room. It made a satisfying crash as it collided with the wall. From the hallway outside the door he could hear feet running. The servants would be here quickly to make sure everything was as it should be.

He glared at the pool once more, before exiting the room past two bedraggled, wide-eyed servants. When he got hold of Cyndane she would know what pain **really** was! Or that bloody Arwres, no matter how pregnant she was, or the cursed Rhien, no matter how well he wielded the sword! Or the bloody cursed Dragon Reborn, no matter **who** he was!

Moridin would get his revenge.

* * *

_Leaving Rand and Min, Nynaeve trotted down the hallway to her room. Well, hers and Lan's, more correctly. It was still funny to think that they were married, despite that she was constantly reminded of that fact at night. A blush crept onto her cheeks and she drew a deep breath before entering the room. _

_The room was barely furnitured, with a bed hardly large enough for two people yet still too large for one, and a washstand at the end of the bed. At least there was a hearth there, and the warmth seeped into her as she took a step across the floor. _

_Lan stood by the bed, his back to her, and an idea popped into her head. Not minding to close the door behind her, Nynaeve put use to all her stealth skills as she crept silently across the room. Her eyes were trained on her husband, looking for signs that he'd heard her. There were none. She smiled. It had sort of become a game, trying to sneak onto him without him knowing. So far she'd been caught every time. He was a difficult person to fool._

_At two feet away she raised her hands into the air and mentally steeled herself for the next move. She held her breath and jumped forward —_

— _only to feel the rush of wind as arms entwined her roughly and her body was slung to the side, through the air and onto the bed. She closed her eyes, panting from the surprise attack, and then opened them to look into a pair of blue orbs in a stony face. However reprimanding he looked, a twitch of his lips gave him away._

"_I already heard you down the hallway," he whispered with a wink, and leaned down to give her a soft kiss. As a reflex she closed her eyes and embraced his gentle care, remembering what her other stealth attempts had led to. An incredible heat filled her and she wanted more, but he drew away. Seeing her disappointed look, he said, "This is not the time, my love, but I promise to make it up to you next time." That brought a blush to her cheeks and a shy grin to her lips, and she barely looked at him as he helped her on her feet. Light, why was she being so skittish?_

"_I will hold you to your word, al'Lan Mandrogoran, or you'll find yourself scrubbing cauldrons." _

_He chuckled and picked up the saddlebags from the bed. Her eyes locked with his, and she couldn't help herself but tiptoeing to kiss him once more. "I love you." The three little words that had been so difficult to say not two months ago now escaped her as easily as Mat cursed. _

_Lan looked at her and said without hesitation: "And I you, mashiara." He then readjusted the sword on his side and held up his arm like a noble at the royal court. She accepted it with a smile._

_At the door, Nynaeve peeked outside to see if there was anyone there, then, upon finding the hallway empty, tugged at Lan's arm to exit. But he held her back, refusing to follow. She sighed irritated, turning around to say 'what?' but the shock from seeing the man before her efficiently silenced her._

_There was no longer a Lan that held out his arm to her – instead it was Isam, or Slayer, who stood there. And he was wearing a malicious grin, dark secrets glowing in his eyes. She let go of him quickly, but he held on, tightening his grip further. _

"_Running away, Lady Nynaeve?" he spat. "I'm not finished with you yet!" His face rippled into that of a wolf's and it barred its teeth – she realised it was the same from Tel'aran'rhiod. Letting go of a muffled scream, Nynaeve drew the dagger from her belt and lashed out –_

– only to find she was knifing through the empty air of a familiar Two Rivers room. The arm froze in midair before falling down. Nynaeve let go of an exhausted breath. She was back at the manor. It was just a dream. No, she corrected, it was a memory evolved into a dream. The Far Madding incident had happened such a long time ago, but then it didn't involve Slayer. She sighed relieved and sunk back into the pillows.

Looking out the window told her it was still night, but she had no idea how long she'd been out. It felt like an eternity. An infinite period of time where she'd been forced to see her deceased husband's face over and over again. And then the dream came. She felt spent of all her strength, both physically and mentally. To put icing on the cake, her children were restless. Very restless. Nynaeve groaned as she brought her hand up to lie comfortingly on her round belly. They stilled to her touch, and she let out a happy breath. No need to have her more exhausted than she already was.

For a few minutes, the soft mattress, pillows and quilts calmed her spirits, and she almost fell asleep to the rhythmic beating of her heart. Almost. Realisation dawned on her.

"Lan!" she gasped and sat up straight in the bed, despite of her aching muscles. Where was he? She'd seen him; she **knew** she'd seen him! "Where am I? Where's Lan? Lan?" She called out into the room. "Lan? Lan!" No one answered. A heavy weight landed in her stomach as she fell backwards. Stars filled her eyesight as her eyes squeezed shut.

Lan wasn't there. He couldn't have been there – he was dead! Dead! Killed in a stupid battle by a faceless Dark creature. By someone too coward to show his or her face, giving her no one to hate, no one to hunt down. Her precious, loving, sweet, sweet husband - her Lan - lying six feet under, or perhaps not even underground! Hiccups resounded in the empty room, and Nynaeve was surprised to find that they came from her. And her vision was blurred by long-pent-up tears, finally given free way to roam down her cheeks in thick streams of salty water.

She'd never cried for him, had promised she never would. Now she was breaking that promise. Like she would break her other promises.

"Oh Lan!" Nynaeve cried, rolling over on her left side and hugging herself tightly. "How can I possibly live without you? How can I look our children in their eyes, knowing you're not there to raise them...?" Tears sprang from her eyes time and again, cleansing her broken spirit. But right now she felt nothing but sorrow. She'd denied herself for so long to mourn her beloved like this she just couldn't stop.

She wished he would come to her like that evening before the Battle, but when she looked up the darkness taunted her with its emptiness. The children were kicking wildly, sensing their mother's distress, but this time she didn't - couldn't – bother to calm them. Deep inside, Nynaeve knew she needed this. Needed it to survive, to live on.

"Oh Lan..." she croaked after an endless time, wearied from crying. With a last clenching of palms around her upper arms, she searched within herself to find peace and rest. It did not take her long to fall into a dreamless sleep.

The next time Nynaeve woke up, she noticed that someone had ignited the hearth, filling the room with a soft, warm light. Outside it was still dark. Tearing her gaze away from the tantalizing flames, she roamed the room with her eyes. Clothes were laid neatly on the chair at the end of the bed; hot water condensed the mirror from its bowl beneath it; a towel hung ready besides the washstand.

Nynaeve spent a few minutes looking at the hearth, thinking. Perrin must have been the one to collect her from the woods. The wolves were probably in touch with him as she ran through the Westwood. Fragments of scents and pictures haunted her memory, chaos within her mind, but she could remember strong arms carrying her. She could remember feeling safe, believing she was in Lan's arms. How stupid she'd been…

"You old fool, Nynaeve," she chastised herself. "What will be the next? Think Mat is a little angel?" A snort escaped her lips. Like if that would happen. She wondered how he was, he and Tuon. Had they married yet? Would she be invited to the wedding? Did Mat hang around the gamblers and inns still?

Did he even know she was alive?

Sighing, Nynaeve rose from the bed. The musing had left her restless, and she felt the need to see other people. Perhaps Faile was up and about. If that was possible for a woman in similar situation has Nynaeve. Morning sickness and fatigue came with the first trimester, and there was no doubt Faile would experience it.

She gave a little smile, remembering how Perrin had acted around his wife the first weeks after he received the news. He'd been so overprotective and enthusiastic that Faile had been forced to "knock some sense into him", as the woman had told her. The same thought made her sad again. Lan hadn't had time to be overprotective. She would have liked that.

As Nynaeve waddled to the washstand, realisation landed upon her. She didn't feel empty any longer when she thought of Lan. She only felt…acceptance. Acceptance that he was gone and it was time for her to move on. Of course, she was still sad, but…the sadness didn't control her. And it felt good. It felt freeing.

She splashed water onto her face with renewed determination as she saw a future goal. Not only would she tell the children all about their father, she would also do everything in her power to renew Malkier to its former strength and glory. The memory of the land she'd seen in _Tel'aran'rhiod_ burned brightly behind her eyes. There would be no lack of resources to settlers at least.

Nynaeve looked into the mirror. What she saw surprised her. There, looking back at her was not the broken widow living alone in a cottage far away from people, but the woman she'd been before the Battle. Oh, there were traces of the changed Nynaeve still, but they were not dominant. Life had returned to her eyes, and she clutched her stomach in glee.

"See, little ones? Mama's happy again. Really happy." In response she got a pair of feet or hands connecting with her womb. It made her chuckle.

Ten minutes later found her smoothing out the creases on her new woollen dress. Nynaeve'd gotten new clothes – good stout Two Rivers' wool dyed green and yellow with silver buttons. Her guess was that Faile had a hand in this. Well, she would have to thank the woman when she found her.

It was still dark outside, making her wonder what the time was, exactly. Opening the door, Nynaeve entered the narrow hallway, lit by small chandeliers on the walls. The hallway was not long, and she soon came to the staircase. As she took a few steps down, she heard voices from below, muffled as though something was blocking her from them.

Descending the last step found her in an unlit hallway, yet further down the hall was a door that stood slightly ajar. It sounded as though a meeting was being held inside, spoken in hushed tones as if someone at the other side of the World would hear them. She became curious. Was it possible the people inside were discussing the Trolloc attack?

She moved as silently as she could across the hall, halting a few feet away from the open door. A hand laid on her stomach as her ear perched. That was the Village Council! So they **were** talking about the Trollocs. Well, of course they would – the foul beasts had intruded upon Emond's Fielders' land. That could not be accepted. For a moment, Nynaeve was angry of the Council's lack of action. Had they not sent someone after the enemies yet? Why just sit around and **talk**? Then she reasoned that she should try and listen, adding up the story.

"- not the only attack." Nynaeve recognised the voice. It was Tam's. "Farmers from Watch Hill and Devon Ride have come here to seek refugee, claiming they were attacked by creepy-looking, mutilated animals. I believe the Shadowspawn will come here eventually."

"Why?" piped another voice she didn't know. "Where do you get that assumption? I say the 'Shadowspawn' are nothing but a band of bandits wanting a bit of fun. They're gone by sunrise." Some people agreed with that statement. Nynaeve shook her head.

The one who answered was Ban Lewin, a soldier from Perrin's old army, now ranking Council member and in charge of the Wall Guard. "Experience, Had, is something you lack. A trained soldier knows the dangers after a long time in war. He sees the hidden agendas and does his best to prevent them. I agree with Tam; the Trollocs are heading for Emond's Field." Murmuring agreements.

"I've heard much about these Shadowspawn, as you call them, but I thought they were all killed in the Battle?" a grizzled, old voice Nynaeve did not recognise asked. Silence followed.

Nynaeve found herself agreeing to the question. Why couldn't those forsaken creatures be destroyed at the same time as their Master? Why keep roaming the World in the search of a new master that did not exist? She froze. Was there possibly another powerful Darkfriend out there? Directing his or her servants to all parts of the World, claiming revenge on those who killed the Dark One? She pressed her body into the wall as support when her feet became numb. Was the attack on her cottage deliberate? Was someone hunting her like that beast in _Tel'aran'rhiod_? Her hands clutched her belly as the world threatened to spin around her.

_Focus, Nynaeve, focus. _

A little by little, the voices of the room grew stronger in her ears. Concentrating on the voices, Nynaeve let out a deep breath. _Afterwards you should get some food before you faint of fatigue and hunger. _

She listened to the meeting again. By the sound of it she'd missed a part of it already.

"-no matter if the Shadowspawn exist or not, our farms have been attacked and we should prepare ourselves for a possible attack," Ben Lewin spoke. There seemed to be an overall agreement to that.

For the first time since she'd started eavesdropping, Nynaeve heard Perrin speak up.

"Then it's decided." Nynaeve was satisfied with the serious tone of his voice. She liked no-joke men. "Ben, wake your men. Split them in three groups, let one guard the Wall, another prepare the Wall for an attack, while the last sleeps. Switch after three hours. Everyone should at some point get some rest."

The man-in-question said "yes, my Lord" and left the room. As he didn't appear in the open door, Nynaeve guessed he took the shortcut through the kitchen on the other side of the room. Inside, Perrin continued to issue orders, and one by one, the Council disappeared to prepare the town for fight. Only Perrin and Tam seemed to be left.

"Do you think we should contact Tar Valon? We do not know how large numbers we're facing, nor do we have enough men for this. A lot of the soldiers didn't come home from the War, and many of those we have are scattered around Two Rivers."

"You do not need to tell me what I already know, Tam." Perrin's voice was low. "I know how much the War has cost our people." He sighed. "These attacks are not coincidental. They're after someone, and they won't stop until they get her." Nynaeve gulped.

"How is she?" Tam asked sadly.

"Sleeping, Faile said. And we should keep her that way. I think going to Tar Valon would take too much of her, even if she's the only channeler in twenty miles radius and we desperately need the Aes Sedai Egwene can send. Add the trauma from last night, and it's a wonder if she wakes up at all, really."

Silence.

"I visited her cottage on my way here," Tam said resigned.

"And?"

Tam sighed. "It was a mess. Everything was strewn everywhere. Wrecked furniture, shred clothes - all that could be demolished had been. The only thing I could find that had not been torn to pieces was this, hidden neatly inside a mattress-". There were a rustle of cloth as Tam showed something to Perrin. A weight landed in the pit of her being. It couldn't be…? "It's a man's shirt," Tam continued. "If I should guess, I would say it was her husband's."

It was! Lan's shirt, the one he'd worn the night before the Battle, the one she'd hidden in her mattress for reasons unknown. The only thing besides her children and the signet ring she had left of him.

At that moment, the world began to spin for real, and this time she couldn't prevent it. Nynaeve felt her body crash into the wall and down onto the floor. She barely registered running feet, a flash of light as the door opened and muttered voices as pain shot through her stomach. Hands were grabbing her, lifting her up, and she heard someone call upon the Wisdom. More voices, more running feet. She's groaned at the stings of pain as she wascarried away. She didn't know where shewas until she felt a bed beneath her. The guest room. Fear ran through her.

Was she going into labour?

Then there was only one sound looming through her head: the warning bell.

* * *

Moridin stood by the large window, watching two birds fight each other over the treetops. 

The doors opened behind him, letting in a stream of bright light. He didn't turn around.

"It has begun, Master," a servant informed him.

Moridin smiled evilly as one bird killed the other.

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**TO BE CONTINUED

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_**Author's Notes:** Phew, finished! At last! Again, more than 7000 words - I'm proud! Did anyone get a flashback to "Nynaeve's Decision", chapter 7 (the Calm After the Storm), at the endof Nynaeve's POV? I did at least. :) Anyways, you know how much I just LOVE REVIEWS (!) so if you please make some comment, I shall work even harder on the nect chapter! I think actually you owe me reviews for writing and writing to you guys. So, REVIEW, REVIEW! _

_**Responds to reviews:**_

**Aria-Wolfstar - **_When will you send me a new chapter of CoT? I'm checking by inbox all the time... :)_

**discordchick - **_Did you get the resolution to last chapter that you wanted? I know I'm pretty mean with the cliffies, but I just can't stand boring endings. Anyways, I'm so happy you're still with me, I love loyal readers (and reviewers)! _

**nightdweller - **_Thank you! I hope to see a new chapter of "Hunter's Moon" soon too:)_

**Ruinwen - **_(blush) Thank you, I most certainly welcome your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

**The Evil Liar - **_Yeah, you should've dropped in sooner:p Nah, it doesn't matter, as long as you keep up with me now. :)_

**faeriepuck - **_Words cannot describe how grateful I am for you patient and wonderful betaing! Be with me always! (gives _faeriepuck_ a virtual cookie) _

**F75 - **_I'm never fair, it seems. Well, I'll just leave you with my lack of fairness then and then you'll have no more "I Will Find You"! (just kidding) :)_

**flaming pinecones - **_See? I updated, at last... :)_

**Tale - **_The same goes for you, new reviewers are fun! I'm sorry I'm mean, but the story would be lame if I wasn't... :)_

**Fairytale - **_I just loooove new reviewers! It's nice to know other people than the regulars like my stories too. :)_

**Palanfanaiel - **_Another new reader with warming reviews! I love long chapters too, but they can be a bit messy sometimes. You forget what you've written, and then have to plounge through thousands upon thousands of words... Anyways, hope to see you in the future too:)_

**Taiyoukai Lady - **_Updated. :)_

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**_Notes:_**

**_Regarding _ki'sain**_** colour **-Noticed another error in my last chapter. The _ki'sain_ Nynaeve's wearing is white, not black, as I'd written. Looked it up in the WoT encyclopaedia, where I found the correct colour. :)_

_**Dream sequence **-The dream sequence with Lan and Nynaeve takes place in Far Madding (see Winter's Heart, chapter 22) but mind you that it's a fictional one – it didn't happen in the book._

_**Slayer**-Isam's probably out of character, but to tell the truth, I don't know enough about him to write him perfectly._


	8. Chapter 7: Just a Shadow

**_Disclaimers:_**_ I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there are anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

**_Summary:_**_ Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

**_Rating: _**_PG-13_

**_Author's Note:_**_ Thanks to_** discordchick, nightdweller, faeriepuck, Tale, Camilla Sandmann, Palanfanaiel **_and _**Taiyoukai**** Lady **_for their wonderful reviews! All of you who didn't review, BE ASHAMED 'cause I know who you are! I've reported far more hits than people have reviewed since last chapter was posted! So make it up this time and REVIEW! _

_/smoke oozing out of my ears/ Okay, I'm cool now. Yeah, as cool as a flaming vulcano in winter._

_Anyways, hope you enjoy this new chapter!_

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER SEVEN - Just a Shadow  
**_by neela_

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Inside the kitchen, Faile stood by the hearth sipping a cup of herbal tea, watching the Council members leave the manor one by one through the kitchen backdoor. By the looks of their faces, a resolution had been met. They were going to prepare the town for a highly possible attack. She sighed into the cup, drawing on the smells for comfort.

A hand went down to caress her flat stomach. If it'd been three months ago, she would have argued with Perrin so that she could take part in the defence of the village, but now… She sighed again, then portrayed a secret smile. While she didn't like the thought of having to avoid physical strains like training fights and experiencing morning sickness, she did love the feel of the new life below her naval. Perrin probably thought her a bit ridiculous when she claimed to feel their child – which was no more than eleven weeks old – but she didn't care. What did men know of women and their body?

_Well, you have to admit that Perrin sometimes knows more about your body than you do yourself. _Faile felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She had to give him that honour – he made her feel alive with his hands. It was surprising really, how a man with a blacksmith's hands could be so gentle and soft. _But then again, maybe it isn't so strange_, she thought. If she remembered correctly, Nynaeve had revealed Lan's hands to be **very** soft and caring. It had certainly surprised Faile at the time, recalling her friend's husband as a hard, stone-faced man fighting a one-man war. But not anymore. It felt natural now. She'd learned that people were often the opposite in private of what they were in public.

Crackles from the dying hearth brought her out of her train of thought. The windows still showed the picture of starless, night-black skies. Faile found it peculiar – surely, it should be dawning soon? It had to be hours since Perrin had brought the unconscious Nynaeve back from the Westwood and less than an hour since she'd have the servants bring fresh clothes and hot water to the guest room.

A look through the open door to the living room landed on the grandfather clock in a corner and confirmed her suspicions. It should've been sunrise now. Faile frowned. _What is going on? What darkness is brewing outside our door?_

Shots of nausea mixed with worry threatened to overwhelm her, and she set the cup quickly down on the table in the middle of the kitchen, reaching for the kettle hanging above the fire. The tea recipe of Nynaeve's was very soothing for her queasy stomach and frenzy nerves. She could probably drink a whole kettle in just one night. Only disadvantage was that her bladder drew her out of bed in the wee hours of night, causing Perrin to worry until his hair turned grey. Her lips twitched at his protectiveness. He could be a bit too much sometimes, but she would be lying if she said she didn't like it. After all, every strong man had to show weakness sometimes – Nynaeve had told her that just a few days ago.

She could tell that the water was really hot because of the steam that was billowing from it. She poured it carefully into the mug and added the last of the tea leaves to make the wonderful liquid. She breathed in the scent of soft herbs, putting the kettle back to its place above the fire.

At first, she'd been sceptic to the thought of her husband showing weakness – she wanted him strong and decisive – but Nynaeve had said it so determinedly she could do nothing but believe her. Secretly, Faile wondered if Nynaeve had experienced something like that with Lan, but she didn't dare ask. Lan was a very delicate subject, despite how much Nynaeve was opening up to her.

Faile became sad for a moment, sipping the tea, careful of the hot liquid.

When she and Perrin first arrived after their long trip from Saldaea, their second question (the first being "How's the town faring while we've been away?") had been about Nynaeve. Faile couldn't pinpoint exactly when she started caring so much for the woman, but she knew that when she heard rumours that the Awres had settled down in her old hometown, she immediately wondered how she was. Considering Lan's death and all.

And what she'd been told then had not lifted her spirits.

Nynaeve had only briefly lived in town before buying an old cottage in Westwood, moving in just the week after. There she lived alone, only coming to the market every ten days to buy food and assorted household items. She'd been the hot gossip of local women for a long time, changing so drastically from the Wisdom she used to be. Faile believed they'd called her not-so-complementing names until they'd been told (by no other than the Lord himself) that Nynaeve had saved their land from being occupied by infinite Darkness. The tune had changed then, and now she heard only good words about her – even if the occasional word "loner" appeared in the village conversations sometimes.

She had been extremely worried that Nynaeve had been too much on her own during this time, but Tam had assured her that he kept the woman company as often as he could, and helped her with the cottage and transportation to town. Faile would've kissed the old man there and now if Perrin had not stood right next to her.

Her eyes looked out at the black sky outside, recalling how the old, ardent Nynaeve had slowly woken to life again since their return home. Faile had made sure they met on a weekly basis, preferably every other day. These meeting were often here at the manor, but she would also just "pop by" Westwood from time to time. They drank herbal tea, ate strawberry creamed tarts (which Nynaeve would devour in the blink of an eye) and talked. About their pregnancies, village gossip, their common friends and their pasts, and sometimes (however brief) Faile would get an insight into Nynaeve's current pain. It hurt to see a woman she'd come to look upon as a dear friend being broken and mournful, but she tried her best to help overcome it.

And Faile believed she had succeeded, if not by much, at least a little. Lan's death and the woes of battle had weakened and put a damper on the usually deeply passionate Nynaeve, creating a dull, lifeless woman instead, but Faile had seen the old side more often these last couple of days than she'd done a month ago. Smiling with momentary joy, she reached out to set the cup back down on the table. However, she never got that far.

The warning bells started calling in the distance, and Faile froze. _The Trollocs!_

Gathering her thoughts and setting the cup fully on the table, she listened. She knew that if they used one bell it meant 'first enemy spotted, but no attack started yet'. Two bells meant 'enemy approaching; prepare for defence'. Three meant 'enemy attack, all hands to battle'. And lastly, four bells meant 'retreat'.

So far, she could only hear two.

Faile wanted to sigh in relief that the bells weren't three or four in number. It was too early. For all she knew, Nynaeve – their hope as the only channeler if the Trollocs outnumbered them – was still asleep, or not strong enough to take a trip to Tar Valon should the need arise.

The night had already drawn out much strength from the poor woman. First attacked by Trollocs and forced to run away, then assaulted by Slayer himself (so Perrin had said). Who knew how Nynaeve's body responded to that kind of stress? Would she perhaps go into premature labour? Faile prayed everything would be all right with both mother and children.

But suddenly a cry came, and she dreaded the worst possible scenario.

The mug, balancing on the edge of the table, went crashing to the floor, as she rushed out the door. Two male voices were yelling from the hallway, calling for help. She paid no heed to the chairs standing in the middle of the living room blocking her path, unconsciously jumping around them. She reached the door and wretched it open to reveal a dark, empty hallway. Looking to her left she managed a glimpse of her husband rushing up the stairs, something long and dark trailing him on the ground.

_Nynaeve's braid!_ _Light, please let her be all right!_

Looking the other way, Faile saw Tam disappearing out the front door, only to reappear moments later with two armoured men. He had a hard look upon his face, and barely nodded to her on his way after Perrin. This confused Faile, but she pushed the question to the back of her mind. She would ask Perrin later.

A young servant Faile recognised as one of the girls brought back from her father's house in Saldaea ran past her, stopping just inside the door to do a hastened curtsey. Faile stalled her for another second, claiming to know what was going on with Lady Nynaeve. The girl said hurriedly that the Lord had sent her to collect the Wisdom because they feared the Lady was going into labour.

"Has her water broken?" Faile asked quickly, staring worriedly up towards the staircase.

"Not yet, milady, but maybe soon."

"Be gone then, and bring the Wisdom back as quick as you can!" After seeing the girl disappear around the corner of the opposite house with her heart in her throat, Faile turned and ran up the stairs. On the second level, Tam stood in the doorway, instructing the two men quietly but his tense shoulders belied his calm talking.

When Faile arrived at the guestroom, Nynaeve was already in bed, a pained expression on her face. She noticed how the woman's hands clutched her stomach in a white-knuckled grip. It felt like a stone was dumped into the pit of her own belly. Perrin sat on the bed beside Nynaeve, talking softly to her. Yet Faile knew he was anything but calm – even if it didn't show, she knew him well – it was portrayed in his eyes as they locked with hers for a short second before he turned back to the bed.

"Breathe, Nynaeve. Slowly, now, breathe," Perrin instructed quietly, taking the woman's hand in comfort. Faile stood rooted to the spot, watching the scene unfold before her: Nynaeve struggling to take deep breaths, grinding her teeth as waves of pain washed over her.

_It hurts to stand on the sideline like this, _Faile thought sadly. _There must be something I can do_. At that, her rational mind kicked in, and she poked her head out into the hallway, looking for Tam. She found him standing by the guards, but neither of them spoke.

"Tam?" she asked quietly. The man-in-question spun on his heel almost too fast; Faile reasoned he must've been waiting for updates ever since she entered the guestroom. "Could you be as kind as to go down to the kitchen – there's a kettle of hot water by the hearth, mugs in the nearby right cupboard and a jar of tealeaves on the mantelpiece. I think Nynaeve could use some calming tea right now."

Understanding shined in his eyes, and he nodded briefly before moving past her and downstairs. With a questioned look at the two armoured men outside the bedroom door, Faile twirled back into the room and closed the door.

Perrin seemed to have made some progress; Nynaeve was leaning back into the pillows, breathing easily now. The man himself sat on the bed for another minute, and then stood up and walked over to her. His brows were twitching – he was very anxious.

"What happened?" Faile asked quietly so as to not disturb the now half-sleeping Nynaeve. "What are those men in the hallway for?"

"I don't know exactly," Perrin replied uneasily, casting a worried glance at the bed. "It happened so fast. Tam and I were in the living room, discussing the night's events, when we heard her cry out from the hallway. We rushed out to find her huddled over in pain, and we just acted. I called for a servant to fetch the Wisdom before carrying Nynaeve up here while Tam rushed out to collect those men out there. As for them, they're her guards."

Faile was sure her eyebrows had risen to the hairline. _Guards?_ Perrin must've seen the question in her eyes, because he continued to explain about believing the Trollocs were after Nynaeve. The attack on her cottage was no coincidence, and whoever was behind it would try again. Possibly someone would sneak into town while the attack was going on.

"We need to get her out of her, Faile," her husband said determinedly, previous nervousness gone while explaining the situation. "I know it sounds awful and disheartened, but she can't go into labour here. She needs to find strength so that she can travel to Tar Valon."

"You're right, Perrin, it does sound awful," she replied and looked into his golden eyes. "But it's true, of course." She released a sigh.

Tam entered just then, his eyes mixed with worry and composure. In his hands he held a tray with all the items Faile had sent him for. Faile reached over and took the tray from him while he spoke low: "I told a servant to bring up some hot and cold water and clean towels as well. There might be need of it."

Faile nodded gratefully, leaving the men to their business while she strode across the floor and set the tray down on the nightstand. Nynaeve appeared to be in a totally different world; she didn't respond when Faile brushed aside a stray lock of hair that'd fallen into her heated face. Faile's heart went out to her, and she prayed to the Creator that everything would be all right.

She could feel two pairs of eyes following her every step as she opened the jar of tealeaves, dropped a small amount into the mug and poured it full of water. The water was not as scorching as she thought it was, but she realised it didn't matter – lukewarm tea was better for her warm body.

"Nynaeve?" she asked tentatively, watching as the woman's eyelids fluttered for several moments before opening completely. There was a frightened look in those eyes, and it threw Faile off guard, but she quickly regained her composure and brought the cup of tea to the Nynaeve's lips. "It's not the herbs I received from you, but they have the same ability. Drink."

A suspicious frown was soon replaced by a peaceful expression as she appreciatively gulped down the contents of the cup. Happy to see it all disappear in seconds, and that Nynaeve's features eased down, Faile set the cup back on the tray. When she turned back, Nynaeve was looking at her with an uncertain gaze.

Taking a wild guess, she tilted her head to the men and 'ordered' them out of the room. They took the hint quite fast – surprisingly – and nodded to the women before exiting the guest room. That seemed to be the answer to Nynaeve's uncertainty, because she immediately relaxed more into the pillows.

Moving to sit more comfortably on the side of the bed without bother its occupant, Faile smoothed the curls on her skirt and then looked the other woman straight in the eye.

"What's wrong?" she asked tentatively.

The woman sighed and closed her eyes. "I think this is just a false alarm."

Faile's eyebrow rose at this. _False alarm? _Confused, she asked, "Why do you think so?"

A faraway look entered her eyes as Nynaeve stared out on the pitch black sky. "I'm not completely sure, but it's a hunch I have." She moved her gaze from the window to the tantalizing tongues of fire in the hearth. They flashed red and gold in the dark orbs of her eyes. "The logical thing is that this night has taken its toll on my body – and my mentality. I believe my body has just responded to the extreme stress it's been put through. And if you remember from what I told you, stress is something to avoid the last few months of the pregnancy. Especially with twin pregnancies."

Faile bobbed her head, remembering the "lessons" they'd gone through while drinking tea and eating strawberry creamed tarts. Everything Nynaeve knew had been passed on to her, "in case I'm not around to help you", the older woman had said. To which Faile responded by threatening to lock Nynaeve up in one of the manor's basements, never letting her go until all children were grown up. That had brought a smile to that saddened face then, and looking at Nynaeve now, she knew that she was recalling that particular event also.

"It does sound rational, I agree." Faile chewed her lip. "However, we cannot be sure at this moment, can we? Don't we have to look for other symptoms of premature birth?" To this the other woman nodded, a small twinkle in her eye.

"It's good to see you remember some of what I've told you – I've experienced that people tend to ignore whatever it is I say," Nynaeve added with a touch of irony. "Anyway, you're absolutely right," she smiled. "We'll have to wait." Her eyes darkened. "However, if those Trollocs manage to break through the outer defences, I believe it won't matter much whether or not I'm in labour. "

* * *

Climbing uphill, Rhien's watchful eyes caught the red tint colouring the black sky in the distance and he heard the far-away roars of too-familiar creatures. At either side of him, Selene and Slayer crept silently up the steep hill, red light appearing on their faces as they neared the top. It looked disturbing, and it made something in him flutter in disgust and fright. Something told him he'd seen it before, and not so long ago. A headache formed beneath his temples at trying to remember, so he dropped it. The scene displayed from the hilltop was more interesting at the moment. 

Sidestepping a thick moss-covered tree trunk, he unconsciously grasped the hilt of his sword as eyes swept over the fields before him. He saw now what had caused the red light. The Shadowspawn had set fire to the corn fields littered all around the big Wall of Emond's Field. But the fields weren't just filled with tongues of fire, but also large numbers of animalistic beasts. Trollocs. Rhien sneered, although that felt strange, like if he didn't do it often. He was drawn to present when Slayer spoke, looking directly at him.

"To your information, _Rhien_," the man's eye twinkled cruelly as a small smile went not unnoticed by Rhien, "I was planning to give her to you. Right after I'd-" he made slashing gestures with his twisted knife, "taken her bastards from her belly. The she would be all yours."

He felt all colour drain from his face, to which Slayer laughed.

"Oh, didn't you know?" he asked and traced dirty, knuckled fingers down the knife blade. "Your precious _Nynaeve Sedai_ is carrying twins. In fact, she's carrying the children of my cousin – they are the only ones between me and the throne." He spat as he pronounced her name, hating the syllables as much as the Light itself.

Rhien could feel the anger rising in him, along with confusion and satisfaction. He didn't even take the time to ask "why?" to the mixed feelings he was experiencing. All he wanted was to act, and he would've done that if Selene had not situated herself between them, eying him calmly. Meeting her gaze, he forced his emotions to calm, sending a last hateful look Slayer's way.

So his nemesis was pregnant? That didn't matter. He could still have his revenge, even double it up.However, as the thoughts appeared, he questioned them immediately.

"This is your chance, Rhien," Selene said urgently. "The townspeople are too distracted by the Trollocs to notice you. The one you're looking for is in the big mansion at the eastern side of town. Her room is close to the Wall on the second floor." He nodded, knowing that it was useless to doubt her accurate pinpointing – it was one of her Talents. "Use this chance wisely; you won't get another for a long period of time."

Forgetting about the argument with Slayer, he turned on his heels and continued down the hill, closing in on his unpaid revenge for every step he took.

A little over a half-hour later found him past Trolloc lines and out of locals' sight. The Wall loomed up in front of him, mocking him with its impenetrable stone bricks while a golden red light from the burning fields around him lit up the cold stone. From what he had observed back on the hilltop, the Wall was at least two spans broad with cross-shaped slits for archers on the top. The two gates – one at the northern side, one at the southern – were protected by portcullis and thick, wooden doors strengthened with iron bars. Add the numerous guards protecting the Wall and he stood before a challenge.

However, he was sure he'd found a weak point. The Trollocs were attacking at the northern gate, and while he was sure the local Lord had posted his men all around the Wall, and particularly above the southern gate, he'd not bothered as much with the eastern and western side, believing them well protected. And it was at the eastern side that he'd climbed over it.

Foolishness and sheepherders went hand in hand in Rhien's opinion.

He searched for cracks or protruding stones in the Wall. He spotted a small stone standing out just two feet above him to the right. With a brief look around that told him there was no one around, Rhien checked that his sword sat secure on his hip before jumping up and taking hold of the stone with one hand. Dangling above the ground, his gaze moved upwards and found a crack to his left; he swung his body up and slipped his free hand into it.

It took him no more than five minutes to climb up the fifteen-feet-high Wall, but it took out a lot of strength from him. Beads of perspiration ran down his forehead as he crouched and checked both sides before creeping across the wall and jumping down on a house roof. In the distance, he heard voices calling, bells ringing, children shrieking. He looked towards the northern gate. People, both men and women, were running across the deserted market place, some with water buckets to extinguish the fires caused by Trolloc arrows, others with weapons to those fighting from the Wall.

Rhien slid silently down from the rooftop, quickly looking around him to see if he'd caught attraction. There was no one in sight. He didn't know why, but he released a heave of relief. Following the shadows, he turned north. According to his earlier observations, his destination laid not hundred feet away. He could see the roof stretching up into the sky behind the houses in front of him. It was probably one story above all other in town.

_Soon_, he thought. _Just around the corner now. _

When the mansion came into view, Rhien slipped quickly behind an empty wagon parked beside a nearby house. The three-stories-high mansion surprised him. It didn't look that big and intimidating at a distance. The stonewalls were lit up by the illuminating flames much like the wall surrounding the village, and the carved wood-lined doors and windows stared back at him with black orbs. It reminded him of his home, Saldaea. Breath caught in his throat for a second, but then he hardened. There was unfinished business to take care of here.

* * *

Watching Nynaeve take the mug of tea from her and sip carefully, Faile smiled satisfied. The pain was lessening, and Nynaeve was managing to hold the cup herself now. It had not been fun when the woman, normally so capable of taking care of herself, suddenly needed Faile to help her with most things – and her stubborn pride had not helped one bit. Light that woman could argue! 

However, the presumed contractions had stopped, and Nynaeve's water had not broken, so Faile believed that it was all just a false alarm. For which she was happy. From the little she knew of childbirth, the children would most certainly die if they'd been born this early. According to Nynaeve's calculations, the birth was set for around Danu 1st, which was two months and eighteen days until.

_So it's still a far way to go. _Faile looked at the irritated grimace upon Nynaeve's face. _Best if I don't say that out loud. Wouldn't she be glad to get those children out!_ A hand reached up to cover the grin splitting her face in two. Quickly standing up, Faile moved over to the window, staring out.

At first, she'd gone there to avoid Nynaeve's rage if she saw Faile's grin, but now she lost herself into the events happening right outside the window. The sky was still dark, but burning rooftops illuminated the scene before her. Men and women alike ran here and there, carrying buckets of water to extinguish fires or ammunition to the archers on the Wall. A small child stood crying in the middle of the street, and she wanted to scream out when a ball of burning fire came rolling towards the little girl, telling her to get away. She was halfway turned when someone streaking by spotted the child and quickly got her out of danger's range.

"What's happening, Faile?" the female asked behind her. She found herself unable to reply.

As she watched, a man running past the southern gate fell to the ground, an arrow sticking out from his back. He'd just been carrying a pail of water. Not a weapon. Not something meant for the use of taking or hurting another life.

_Alas, the hardships of war. I'd hoped we would have escaped it when we left Saldaea. I hope Father can handle the rebels and their uprising. _

Moving her stare from the dead man – now being dragged aside and covered by a blanket – Faile focused along the eastern side of the Wall. It was strange how there could be so little movement there, when on all other sides the battle raged full-scale, but Faile didn't afford the thought more time. Her gaze swept by the last distance she could see from this window, and almost failed to notice a shadow streaking past an empty wagon.

_What–? _Her eyes hastened back to the wagon, but found nothing. The thought buggered her. She'd seen something, hadn't she? She was sure of it, and continued to scrutinize the surrounding area.

"Faile? What is it?"

Faile sighed. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Not even a rabbit gone loose from the butcher's in the chaos of battle or anything.

"Just a shadow," she replied defeated and turned to see the questioned look Nynaeve sent her way. "It was nothing. The Wall has not breached – Two Rivers folk are tough people, and good fighters." If Nynaeve knew she was avoiding the detailed explanation, she showed no sign of it. Taking a last look outside, Faile went back to the bed.

At that exact same moment, the door banged open and her husband entered, Tam on his heels. Both had a grave expression on their faces. A stone slipped into the pit of Faile's stomach. So this was it. They'd defended the Wall well, but the Trollocs were advancing so much they could not hold on much longer. It was time for Nynaeve to go to Tar Valon and get help.

"Nynaeve," Perrin started, stopping right beside her bed. "Can you channel?" At her glare, he hurried to explain, "We cannot hold the Wall for more than an hour, at most. The Shadowspawn has developed a kind of device that'll break the gates in two in less than five minutes given the chance. They managed to try one time, and the effect was gruesome. At the current moment, we're holding the Trollocs away from this device, but they keep coming – Gateways are forming all over the fields, spitting out another bunch of the beasts. We're going to run out of arrows soon. We need reinforcements."

During this little speech, Nynaeve's skin colour had visibly whitened, and she was holding a hand in front of her mouth to hide a gasp. For a moment after Perrin had finished, she looked here and there, at first helpless and without a goal, but in the end determination flashed in her eyes. Faile wished she knew what was happening inside that head.

"You want me to Travel to Tar Valon?" she asked, already sitting up. At Perrin's nod, she swung her feet out and onto the floor. Standing up, she looked at their slightly surprised faces. "What?" Nynaeve asked defiantly. "Of course I'll go there! I'm fully capable of channelling, Perrin Aybara, contra your beliefs!"

Her husband seemed too shocked at her quick recovery; he didn't react to Nynaeve's use of his old name.

"Now, where are my shoes? And I need a cloak, preferably dark. A strawberry creamed tart wouldn't hurt either. And-" Nynaeve continued to stream out a list of things she wanted or needed. A glance from Faile sent Tam on his way to fetch a servant, and then she took a minute to enjoy seeing her husband being dressed down by his old Wisdom for believing her good health. He looked so much like a little boy being punished for something, Faile had to chuckle. Luckily, though, neither of the people in front of her seemed to notice.

* * *

Realising that knowledge was the cue, Rhien moved back to the shadows from where he'd stood behind the wagon, intending to go around the house. Perhaps he'd spot her in one of the northern windows. He crouched down and moved as fast as he could. The sword weighed heavily on his hip, to his annoyance. It was a bad sword, he reflected as he stopped for a brief orientation of his whereabouts. It didn't feel as it should in his hands – it felt strange, and tainted. He pushed the thoughts back into his mind, knowing he'd loose concentration if he got lost in trains of thoughts. That could get him killed. 

Rhien cursed silently; suddenly realising he had to cross open ground to go further around the mansion. He was on the east side, hidden inside what appeared to be the mansion's stables; the tacks hanging on the wall were marked with a wolf's head – the banner of the Lord. From where he stood, he could see the back of the house clearly and a few steps leading up to a door. His guess was that the kitchen lay behind that door. And that was his way in. He smiled victoriously. No one would stop him now.

He took a step forward, only to suddenly dive back again as the door-in-question opened. Five shadows emerged and even though four of them had weapons drawn, his eyes were immediately drawn to the smallest. From what he could see in the scarce light, something long fell out from beneath the hood of the dark cloak. Something reaching down to the waist and tugged violently by a lithe hand. His face turned to stone.

Nynaeve Sedai

He could barely restrain himself from charging right now. It would be too risky; he had to catch them off-guard. Even though he mastered the sword better than others, he was still faced with odds – he couldn't just barge on four warriors and a channeler. Not even when he'd attacked the three Aes Sedai had he walked casually up to them. It had been a masterfully planned attack, set during the night in the darker parts of a forest. The first he did was to eliminate the Warders, an easy task. A few well-placed arrows shot from a crossbow took care of that. Then he'd charged at the channelers, running back and forth between them and the surrounding trees. The only injuries he received were the scratches of bushes and twigs. In the end, he'd gotten rid of them all, to Selene's big satisfaction.

But the slaughter still tasted foul in his mouth.

_Focus on the present, Rhien. Do not dwell on those who are dead._

The man shifted on his feet, studying the scene before him. His target stood totally still while the men scanned their surroundings. Rhien guessed she was opening up to the Source. It certainly looked like that. The men stood in a defensive position, making this a little harder for him. It meant they were prepared. It meant he had to be quick.

Making up his mind, Rhien reached for the piece of cloth hanging around his neck. It was worn the same way as the black Aiel veils, and in addition to the hood he now drew over his head, all but his eyes was covered. They would not recognise him, at least not immediately. The cursed woman might, but that didn't matter. He would deal with her. Right now he needed to find a route that would take him as quickly as possible to the little group. He scanned the surroundings, finally spotting a clear way blocked from their view. Grimacing, he set off.

Sneaking around felt like something he had done quite a few times. Though his cloak for some reason felt weird with all this moving, Rhien continued past the stable entrance and to the left, following another of those empty wagons. The village seemed to reek of them. It almost felt too simple. Too easy. At the end of the wagon, he and the group was parted only by eight paces or so. That would be a couple of seconds of hard sprinting, but easy enough. He'd take them completely off-guard. Luckily for him, it seemed his target hadn't managed to wield any Power yet; she stood exactly as she had two minutes ago, a frown upon her face. It looked like her hand wanted to tug her long braid, but stilled determinedly at her side.

Ignoring the tugging at his mind, Rhien emptied himself of all emotion, feeling the Void fill him. Now was the time. He jumped out of his hiding place and rushed forward.

One man was down from his Moon Rises Over the Water before anyone knew what was happening. His mind registered vaguely the woman giving a small shriek before being pushed aside by what looked to be the oldest man of the four. He and another man – the one with golden eyes – stood before her in one of the basic guard stands – Lion on the Hill. Rhien turned to the third man, parrying Parting of Silk, ever watchful of the other men.

The two circled around each other, Tower of Morning meeting Boar Rushing Down the Mountain, followed by a series of the Wood Grouse Dances to which Rhien deflected all without a scratch. His opponent was young, and good, but nothing against a Blademaster.

"Nynaeve! Get out of here!" someone called out.

Rhien began to hasten, speeding his movements until he could finish the boy off with Thistledown Floats on Whirlwind. Not waiting to see the boy's head separate from the rest of the body, he spun around and was immediately challenged by Stones Falling from the Cliff.

His new enemy was the older man. From within the void, Rhien felt nothing, and the sword thrust, slashed, parried and blocked so fast his opponent should rather be scared and run off. However, he learned the hard way that this was an experienced soldier. The lines on the sun-roughed cheeks never wavered, and the stability and solidness in his stance could only have been obtained in an army. When the man lashed out with Water Flows Downhill, he knew for certain that the man was a Blademaster. Just his luck.

The Cat Dancing on the Wall met Rhien's Ribbon in the Air. Wind and Rain followed by The Courtier Taps His Fan clashed hard with the man's Striking the Spark. From the corner of his eye, as he circled the man again, he could see his target following the battle closely instead of doing what she was told to do: get away.

The men battled for what seemed like ages, sword form after sword form meeting one another, but it was more likely only minutes. However, it was enough for Rhien to grow impatient. Appearing to misjudge an attack from the other man, he fumbled on his feet and let his opponent take the chance. Just as The Kingfisher Takes a Silverback levelled down on him, he jumped quickly out of range and spun around, his sword reaching out to graze the man's thighs. He went down with a cry, blood sprouting out of a deep foot-long gash on his left thigh.

Rhien smiled humourless beneath his veil, and with the sword dripping blood, he turned around facing his prey. Hate shone from his blue eyes. This was the moment he'd been waiting for the last few months. And he would enjoy every minute of it. Rhien looked her up and down, wondering where it would wound the most yet not kill her immediately.

That was when he noticed the protruding bulb beneath her cloak. Slayer had mentioned it, but still… Shivers ran down his spine. It had to be nearing birth. There was no other explanation for her very swollen stomach. He gulped, forcing his gaze up until his eyes locked with hers. Dark orbs looked fearfully at him. He noticed the hand on the belly now. It had appeared from nowhere.

He hesitated, and lost the chance to success.

Rhien had forgotten one man – the one charging at him from his right. The man with the golden eyes.

He never got to see his nemesis escape into an opening appearing out of thin air. He was too busy trying to defend himself against an enraged Lord.

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**TO BE**** CONTINUED**

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**_Author's Note: _**_Finished at last, albeit shorter than the last two chapters. But now the action has officially begun! There'll be more in the next chapters, I promise! Now be nice readers and push the little button in the far left corner that says **"submit review"** and say a few words, even if it's just: "good" or "awful" or "you're mean!". __Okay? Or else NO UPDATE until...a long, long time have passed...If I decide to be that evil..._

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**discordchick - **_You dead yet? I hope not, you'd be missing all the fun in the future chapters! ;P  
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**nightdweller - **_Sorry, but the babies didn't come this time. But next time they will, I promise. :) By the way, you make me really happy when you say that you love this story! Whenever are **you** going to update? I want to see Nynaeve have her memory restored and back with Lan!_

**faeriepuck - **_I still haven't got the last to betaed chapters, but I've changed my email, so maybe you can get it by this time. Hope you liked the last chapter and this one. _

**Tale - **_No, I'm not a writer, at least not a professional one. I'm just an amature, I'm afraid, although I'd love to be a pro! ;) I am flattered by your review!_

**Camilla Sandmann - **_I hope the plots aren't too confusing - I try to make them obvious yet invisble at the same time. Don't know if I've succeeded however... Anyways, I'm glad to see you're with me still!_

**Palanfaniel - **_Thank you! I'm flattered! Hope you like this chapter too!_

**Taiyoukai Lady - **_I'm working, I'm working! _


	9. Chapter 8: Aftermath

**_Disclaimers:_**_ I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there are anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

**_Summary:_**_ Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

**_Rating: _**_PG-13 (T)  
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**_Author's Note: _**_Wow! I actually got 13 reviews for last chapter - that's the most I've received for a single chapter since the epilogue of "Nynaeve's Decision"!__ Big hugs to _**Taiyoukai Lady, Ruinwen, Neviwyn, Aria-Wolfstar, faeriepuck, wow, Rachel, F75, nightdweller, Palanfanaiel, Tale, dontfeedfred, **_and _**THKSkywalker**_ for your wonderful reviews! You are what make my day brighter!_

_I also want to thank _**EvilChani**_ and _**faeriepuck**_ whom have both beta read this chapter and came with suggestions and corrections. You're the best! _

_Now, on to the story!_

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**I Will Find You **

**CHAPTER EIGHT - Aftermath  
**_by neela _

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Despite his obvious lack of handling a sword, the young Lord fought with such force Rhien often had to step back to avoid a deep cut in his belly or throat. If looks could kill, he would have been dead two minutes ago. Golden eyes seemed to burn through his skull, never wavering from his face. Or his eyes more likely, as he wore the dark veil tight around his head. It could not be removed unless the other man ripped it off, and he wanted to avoid that. Selene had imprinted into his brain that a faceless enemy was more intimidating and fearful than a recognisable one. Even he had to agree.

With a sharp and quick jolt of Rhien's sword, his opponent's weapon flew out of his hands. For a shocked moment, the man before him stood totally still and Rhien prepared to finish him off, but suddenly there was another weapon in his hands. An axe. A large one. Outwardly, he was as calm as the desert on a non-windy day, but inside his blood boiled. By true power of will, he moved into a guarded stance, sword outstretched to his side.

And then the battle commenced again, only this time fiercer than ever. They were like two beasts, wolf and panther, clawing, biting and circling each other. Blood oozed from small cuts across his body, but Rhien didn't care. He was inflicting as many wounds as he received, maybe even a little more. His opponent was as strong as a wolf, never tiring. Neither did he for that matter, but that didn't trouble him. No, he didn't have time for this.

Setting his mind on the task, Rhien began a more aggressive series of attacks. Red sparksflew every time the long sword met the axe. He could see it all in slow-motion; an arc upwards here and down to the left for a slash along the armour of his adversary. Both lashing out with their weapons, and then flung back from the force of the crash between them. They never paused, never stopped a single moment. There was just this one time he was caught off guard, and that was when a strange cold washed over him, but he brushed it off.

After what felt like hours, Rhien noted the slowed motions and the faltered steps of his foe. In the end, it was all draining his strength. Getting ready for the final round, he threw a quick look to where his nemesis had stood just minutes ago. All that was left in her wake was empty space.

_No! _He roared inside his mind. This could not be happening!

"Argh!" he rushed forward at the other man, seeing red. It was not possible! The sneaky witch had managed to escape again without him knowing! His sword rushed down and down. He never noticed the tiredness taking hold of his foe, never noticed how he fell to his knees, and never noticed how his own sword dug deep into the man's shoulder. Only when he heard the enraged cry and was suddenly poked in the eyesby a large hand, did he notice the other man's defeat. But another revelation followed it. Wind grazed his bare cheeks and nose. No veil. He looked down at his opponent. Confusion was replaced by recognition in those golden eyes. The man opened his mouth, but Rhien slammed his fist into the man's face, rendering him unconscious, bruised and bloodied.

_First she slips away, and now this! _He wanted to rage and slam his sword into the ground. But somehow, his mind reasoned that he could do nothing more. He needed to get away, else he'd get caught. He stared at the bodies around him. This was not exactly how he'd expected it to happen. _Burn her soul! Argh!_

Flinging the remnants of the veil into the ground, he turned and ran back to where he'd entered the town.

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_

Stepping through the Gateway, Nynaeve ended up in the middle of what she recognised as the Warder training yards. To her left was the barracks of the Gaidin and their trainees. To the right was the paved road down to the city, hindered by guarded Gates and behind her were more circular, fenced-in training yards. But none ofthat heldany importance to her. Her destination lay before her. The Tower rose high and majestically into the air, and all she could think of was how she dreaded the staircases.

It didn't go unnoticed by her that the sun was dawning here, whereas Emond's Field had been covered in complete darkness when she left only moments ago.

"Something dark and powerful has been unleashed in Two Rivers," she muttered quietly to herself. It really had to be powerful, seeing as it kept the sunshine away even at this time of day. The rooster must've crowed at least two hours ago. The kitchen maids and Novices on kitchen duty must be up and running already. That meant breakfast services starting within the hour. In response to that thought, her stomach growled, earning a small chuckle from her as she began finding her way into the Tower and Egwene's study.

It was almost a year since she'd been here last, and she could see the changes been done in that time. Gardens that had been burnt down the night Elaida fell were being replanted and grew unbelievingly fast. She almost suspected the Ogier had come to visit. Here and there new buildings had been raised. The numbers of channelers, both male and female, must've heightened the last year, even with Tarmon Gai'don just five months in the past. Old buildings and walls were being repaired, and the large square before the Tower Entrance looked smaller than a year ago – flowered bushes bloomed richly along the walls despite autumn closing in.

The wide stairs leading up to the Entrance were being carved, she noticed, in intricate patterns – and pictures! Images of what the Tower had to offer: leadership, companionship, hard times, good times, knowledge, developing of skills and much more. On the landing before the large oak doors there was an image that looked suspiciously much like the sign of the Aes Sedai – the snake biting its tail, but with an addition from the old Black Tower, a dragon.

As if hardly believing what she was seeing, Nynaeve went on, ignoring theexhaustion threatening to overcome her. Despite what she'd said to Perrin, she'd not rested enough and wished for a bed to magically appear before her. A twin pregnancy was more tiring than an ordinary pregnancy, especially seeing as she was six months and a week along. _Light! I still have two-and-a-half months left…_ Discarding the thought almost immediately (_You have more important things at hand than wallowing in self-pity!_), Nynaeve reached out with her hands.

The oak doors, lined with silver gleaming red in the sunrise, opened smoothly to her touch. She did not know the specific mechanics of these doors, but they only needed a touch of a channeler's finger to open at their own accord. This did not apply to those who could not channel, of course, but those visitors normally came during the daytime when the doors stood wide open.

Stepping inside the large entrance hall, she paid it little attention and just headed towards the staircases. As she'd known, it was a long climb to the Amyrlin's Study. Not for the first time did she curse whoever's idea it was to place the study halfway up in the Tower. Oh well, she should be happy it hadn't been placed at the very top floor. Then she would probably be found years into the future in some hallway or staircase people seldom visited, where she'd passed out of exhaustion and never woke up again. However, she could also consider waking up an Aes Sedai that could carry her up with weaves of Air. With her decreased capacity of walking, stairs did certainly not appeal to her.

Looking with dread up at the steep, white marble staircases, Nynaeve gritted her teeth and began ascending. Her hand itched for tugging her braid, but she willed it to the railing, which she grabbed with all her might after the first landing had passed. Cursed pregnancy! Normally it took a lot to exhaust her, but now… Forcing her feet up and forward, she kept herself from looking up to her destination. It'd just pain her to see how far she had left.

_Stop it, Nynaeve! Think about something else to pass the time instead of complaining! _

One step followed by another. That was the way to do it. Focusing on this task, Nynaeve didn't notice someone climbing down the staircases above her, his intent to meet her half-way. The person walked much faster, and was soon at the landing above her where he stopped to wait.

Breathing heavily, she watched as one chalk white, marble step after another disappeared behind her skirts. Light! This was hard! Her feet wanted go up, but her stomach wanted to tip forward and her back struggled to stay upright, though that didn't work. She was bent over the staircase like an old woman nearing the end of her life. But she, however, was full of life. Wiping sweat off her brow, Nynaeve dared a look upwards. Only ten more steps, and then a pair of feet. A pair of—what? She swung her tired head up to meet the worried look upon Beldaere's face. Though he didn't seem as surprised to see her here as she was to see him.

Forcing herself to stand up straight, she ascended the last steps with what she hoped was grace. She had the feeling she had failed at both accounts when the Keeper of Chronicles quickly descended one step and took her arm. Not for escort, however, but for support. Nynaeve tried her best to not lean on him, but it was hard to avoid. And it did feel good to have a little weight off her feet. It would be so good when the children were out, even though she would miss their presence dearly – they were protected in her belly, but when once out, they would be exposed to the dangers of the world.

Concentrating on the next staircase, Nynaeve almost missed Beldaere's first whispered words.

"I was told someone had just Traveled to the training yards, but I didn't know it was you. Has something happened in Two Rivers?"

Nynaeve wanted to ask why he was whispering, but found herself with no breath left for speaking. All she could think about were the stairs. They had managed to get up one staircase faster than she had done the last. It had to be partly the physical support Beldaere offered, but she also suspected the use of _saidin_. Something was brushing her ankles while at the same time her feet felt lighter. She didn't know if she should thank him or swat him out of embarrassment.

When she had first met Beldaere, he was the newly instated Keeper of Chronicles, former brother of the Blue Ajah. It was on the day the Hall of Sitters for the first time was filled with a mix of female and male Aes Sedai. It couldn't have been more than a month after Elaida's fall. The man she met then was not so very different from the one walking beside her, but at that time, his wife had still been alive.

He was a Borderlander, distant Malkieri blood running through his veins. In the Last Battle, he fought side by side with Lan. She could remember seeing him not far from her husband while she rode up to the hilltop where she would fight. From what Egwene had told her, the man had also saved her from Lanfear's clutches during the last hours of battle. However, the Gwiddon had escaped and later on killed his wife. With his amazing Talent to "sniff" other channellers' 'scent' – the traces after them using the Power – Beldaere had known who the murderer was, and he'd hunted her ever since.

They had managed to capture Lanfear at one point, and stilled her before condemning her to the World of Unliving. A special _ter'angreal_ had been discovered among the many artefacts brought from Rhuidean. Its purpose was to open a Gateway to a place which no one could escape from. Since there was no life there, they had called it the World of Unliving. It was only used on members of the Black Ajah and Forsaken, and in the end it had been destroyed. They would not risk someone using it against them or trying to get those condemned back to the world of living. So before the Hall of Sitters, Lanfear had been forced to go through it. They had hoped to never see her again, but she had managed to worm herself out of there. That was what Egwene had told her in _Tel'aran'rhiod_.

Nynaeve began to wonder why he hadn't been the one to set off after the Gwiddon rather than those three Aes Sedai Egwene sent. Perhaps the Amyrlin had denied him that right. Knowing Egwene, Nynaeve found it more than likely. He must have been angry with her. She looked sideways at him. He was staring upwards, determined with his jaw set firmly. Well, if he had been angry, it was certainly over now. Either that or he was a talented actor.

Finally daring a look up the staircase – they had been walking for what seemed ages – Nynaeve was relieved to see the correct floor. Now it would just be a few bends and turns, and she would be seeing Egwene. It seemed like Beldaere had read her mind even though she had not said she was here to see the Amyrlin. Ascending the last step, she let out a long breath. When her weight suddenly increased, Nynaeve's suspicions about the use of _saidin_ were confirmed. She glared at him, but it had no affect. He just took her arm, this time for escort, and led her down the marbled hallway. Wall hangings portrayed past Amyrlins, some less thought of than others. She noticed that the place where Elaida's hanging had hung was empty. It gave her some small satisfaction. However, she could not see a hanging of Egwene yet. Perhaps it was in the making.

A few Novices and servants scurried past them, curtsying quickly but adequately before hurrying off again. None of them seemed to take another look at them, which didn't surprise her too much. She could remember well her days as Accepted; there was much work to be done if you found yourself in the office of the Mistress of Novices. She discreetly looked down at her hands. No wrinkles after scrubbing an unknown number of cauldrons – that belonged to the past. She suddenly wanted to grin, but refrained. There were other matters at hand right now.

Looking around her, Nynaeve frowned. This wasn't the way to the Amyrlin's Study.

"Where are we going?" she asked with a quick glance at Beldaere, a touch of nervousness lining her voice. They ought to have taken a left turn in that last corridor.

"The Amyrlin is not in her study," Beldaere replied, walking determinedly along the hallway, then suddenly taking a right turn into a smaller corridor that ended with a large window showing off clear blue sky tinted with red and yellow. Two metres from the window on the left side was a rather plain wooden door. "After your little trip to the Dream World last night, she is resting in her quarters." He grasped the door handle and opened it for her. She stood hesitantly in the door, looking first at him then inside.

A large room about fifteen metres in width and length was beyond that door. It would have looked like an ordinary Aes Sedai quarters if it had not been for the luxury of its contents. There was a beautifully, carved table standing in the far right corner, surrounded by cushioned chairs with the same familiar carvings. Plates and cups of white porcelain, glasses and silver cutlery were set for two. The table stood upon a beautifully woven carpet, though in discreet colours. Through windows on the right wall she could see west branch of the river – Alindrelle Erinin – and the outer skirts of the white city, and also the bridge going over to the village Alindaer. Shelves lined the walls on either side where there were no windows, filled with books and odd-shaped ornaments in Sea Folk porcelain. On her left hand were also two comfortable stuffed chairs with appurtenant footstools sat upon another woven carpet. Past the chairs was another wooden door, this one closed.

Taking a step inside, Nynaeve stopped to wait for Beldaere. He quickly entered and closed the door behind him, immediately setting off for the door on the left, Nynaeve on his tail. She suddenly felt edgy, which she couldn't explain until she recalled what Beldaere had said earlier. Egwene was resting after the meeting in _Tel'aran'rhiod_ which would mean something had happened after Nynaeve left. Her brow furrowed. Egwene had told her to run, but from what she didn't know, and apparently, that 'what' had drawn out much of the younger woman, possibly even hurt her. She quickly followed Beldaere – despite her tiredness – as he opened the door and entered a darkened room. When she came to the doorway, she halted.

This was Egwene's bedroom, no doubt about that. A large four-poster bed stood next to the room's only window. There was a washstand at the other side of the bed, next to a body-length mirror lined with something golden. To her left was a big wardrobe and right beside it was a small table filled with pots and glasses – cosmetics by the look and smell of it. A mirror hung right above the table and a stool was situated before it. Small lantern hung at the wall, some of them lit and giving off the scarce light in the room; no one had opened the curtains. However, it was not all this that really interested her. No, it was the two persons standing in the middle of the room and arguing with each other, completely unaware of the two newcomers.

"Gawyn, I am fine!" Egwene snapped irritated, throwing her hands in the air. She was sporting a few bandages, one of them wrapped around her head. Blood seeped through the white fabric. Nynaeve would say she looked everything other than 'fine', but found she couldn't open her mouth. Waves of sleepiness washed over her.

The man beside Egwene was glaring at her, face clearly angry. "I don't believe you. You are swaying on the point of falling! You should stay in bed or let someone from the Yellow Ajah Heal you."

"You know why I can't! These are not injuries from falling off the bed or tripping over my own feet – they will be suspicious and there will be rumours. I cannot afford any rumours now. There are still those in acquaintance with Darkfriends or former member of the Black Ajah. Or even one of the surviving Forsaken! If a sniff of this gets out, it'll—"

Beldaere took this moment to announce their arrival. The couple before them broke away like if they'd been caught stealing kisses in a stray hallway. They looked both embarrassed and angry, but of which dominated, Nynaeve wasn't sure. All she could think about was how soft that bed looked. Light, she was worn-out!

Egwene was the first to recognize her. "Nynaeve!" She strode over to her, argument forgotten, and grasped her hands. "What has happened?" she asked and led her to sit on the bed. "You look terrible." It was indeed as soft as Nynaeve had suspected it was. If only she could lie back and sleep…

"Emond's Field is under attack," she replied tiredly, barely noticing Egwene's hold tighten on her arm or the men straighten up. To Egwene's silent urging to continue, she told them the story from beginning to end, not excluding Rhien's part in the battle – the other woman's hand clenched around her arm at this. The men had their hands on their swords, and Gawyn was looking around as if treacherous ears were within range. "Perrin needs help from the Gray Tower," Nynaeve finished, squinting at the other woman who swam in and out of focus. She was more drained than she'd first assumed.

After ending her tale, it was only a matter of seconds before Egwene started shooting off orders to the two men. Nynaeve could not hear everything she said; she was falling sleep. Had it not been for the constant talking of the young Amyrlin, she would have dropped dead then and there, but as it was, she remained on the brink of awareness, and could therefore hear when Egwene told a maid to show Nynaeve to a guestroom at the floor below. She had no complaints about that and just went out the door, muttering 'thank you' or 'good bye' (she couldn't remember) below her breath.

She didn't know what happened after leaving Egwene or where they went, but when she was shown inside a door and spotted another big four-poster bed, she cared less. All she wanted was to sleep for a week, and then just lie there until the date of birth. Not caring about taking off her clothes, Nynaeve fell unceremonially onto the soft bed, and drifted off to a dreamless sleep, hands protectively on her stomach.

_

* * *

_

Quickly running up the hills, skirting around trees and bushes here and there, Rhien tried to get in touch with his emptiness to calm down. He felt sick for a reason he couldn't explain. Sick to the bone, with a blinding headache, and tired – so extremely tired. His wounds were oozing blood, and as soon as he reached the top, he searched for his horse. There were bandages in his saddlebags he could use, and an ointment to help heal the wounds.

Not noticing the astonished looks upon his companions' faces, he got to his horse – a brown mare that had brought him a long way – and rummaged through the bags. He ignored the other two's whispering, and concentrated on the rolls of white fabric. Applying them proved a little difficult in some cases, but he managed. The ointment burned his cuts, though the pain was welcoming to him. It told him he was still alive, and not a hallow body functioning like a puppet, even though it sometimes felt like he was steered by strings. He figured the Creator was having a go at him, mocking him with his family's death, and letting his nemesis escape time and again. This was the third time.

"What happened with your revenge?" Selene asked from behind him. He didn't bother to turn around.

"She disappeared," he replied heatedly. "I gather by the use of _saidar_." The word burned as much as the ointment in his mouth. "She's probably off to warn the other Tar Valon witches and sorcerers." He could hear his Mistress inhale sharply before muttering incoherently. He picked up words like 'failed', 'Master' and 'project'. Not that he cared. He was struggling to take hold of the Void, but it didn't come to him. He still felt sick.

Rolling the last strip of bandage on his arm, Rhien heard a branch snap right behind him. He did not have time to spin around before something hit him on the head and the world became black.

_

* * *

_

Streams of sunlight shone into her eyes as Nynaeve slowly woke up. Stretching limbs and rubbing her eyes, she stood up and walked over to the room's only window. There was much life bustling about, from small insects to birds to people. From what she could tell by the angle of the sun, it had to be long after noon, which meant she had slept for more than a quarter of the day.

"Mama has slept almost too long," she spoke, caressing her stomach. It was probably her children who'd woken her up, because they were kicking wildly beneath her hands. She smiled. "Calm down now." They stilled, but only for a minute while she explored the view.

From this window, Nynaeve could see all of the western part of Tar Valon, the river Alindrelle Erinin and the three villages on the other side. Right below her, more than two hundred feet down, were the Warder barracks, the stables and the training yards. She could see a little of the entrance, but more of the gardens than from Egwene's window.

Tar Valon was actually a very beautiful place; a city of mixed nationalities, creating a new 'country' so to speak, with the Amyrlin as the ruler. At a distance, the city was outstanding and inviting with its whiteness, looking like a purified heaven where everyone was happy. People could wander in the streets at night, not needing to worry about ambushes. But no place was free of those whose mind and heart was tainted. If she remembered correctly, there were many back alleys and whole parts of the city filled with darkness in every form of the word. Bandits, assassins, girls and women selling themselves, thieves – they were all there, balancing the equation of good and evil.

"Evil," Nynaeve sighed, gazing out at the landscape. "I'd hoped to avoid that after the Battle. All the crisscrossing I did around the world – for nothing." Sadness filled her where she leaned on the windowsill. "I wish it could all end. I'm tired of always being on the move. But people like Rhien will never give up."

Heaving a sigh, she turned away from the window and walked over to the washstand. The kicking never ceased and it made her a little irritated. However, she pushed it to the back of her mind and splashed water onto her face before drying it off with a towel. Once finished, she moved to exit the room, but stopped, out of curiosity, to stand before the body-length mirror not far from the washstand.

It had been a long time since she'd seen so much of herself in just one mirror. Nynaeve studied the image portrayed in the mirror, shocked. All her beliefs about being as large as a boat and just as ugly were thrown out the window. Twisting and turning, she tried to see herself from all angles. She didn't look so bad.

Her face had become fuller and life was shining in her eyes after a long time in mourning. Her breasts – sore and big – looked natural when compared to the size of her belly, which looked like nine months pregnant rather than the actual six. Overall, she had filled out, and normally Nynaeve would have complained about gaining weight (despite it being natural), but it looked…_good_. Motherhood seemed to agree with her and suited her well. The very thought sounded bizarre and foreign, and she scrunched up her nose. That broke the whole picture and she turned away.

At that point, her stomach began to growl along with the children's active motions. Oh, she'd forgotten breakfast. Well, she would have to include it with lunch and dinner then. Sparing one last glance in the mirror – she hadn't changed during the seconds she was turned the other way – Nynaeve left for Egwene's study.

Ten minutes later found her outside the door to the Amyrlin's Study, panting from the journey up two floors and down a few hallways. At least she wasn't as exhausted as last night. No, she felt more refreshed this morning. Raising her hand to knock, the door was opened to reveal a female Aes Sedai Nynaeve never had seen before. She looked like she'd expected her ages ago.

"Good day, Nynaeve Sedai," she said, stepping aside to allow her enter. "I trust you slept well?" She nodded, suspicious of this new, rather plump woman with a grey-fringed shawl and cold, blue eyes (_Where's Beldaere?_), and followed her lead across the room which belonged to the Keeper of Chronicles and through the open door to the Study. Once she was inside the door, the woman curtsied herself out of the room and closed the door behind her. Nynaeve's gaze went to the woman sitting behind a large, beautifully handcrafted desk. The words in Old Tongue at the bottom of the desk intrigued her.

"The only true wisdom lies in knowing you do not know everything." When Egwene's head shot up from signing a big document, she realised she had spoken out loud. Muttering a small curse below her breath, she walked across the room and to a seat-cushioned chair before the desk.

"Sleep well?" Egwene asked, amused when Nynaeve plumped down in the chair. She glared at the other woman, but nodded.

"Are there any news from Emond's Field?"

Egwene went silent for a minute, before laying down the quill she'd been writing with, hands folding on top of the white parchment. "I sent Beldaere a few hours ago," she replied. "He has not returned yet, but if what you told us last night is as bad as it sounds, then I do not expect him back so soon. I will give him until sundown, and if he has not come back 'till then, I will send more Aes Sedai." Their eyes met. "But I do not suspect it will come to that. He's an excellent channeler, and an able swordsman."

Nynaeve felt her eyes drift away from Egwene's and around the room. It looked exactly like last time she was here. There was just one exception; the sword hanging above the fireplace. She knew it all too well.

"He learned from the best," she reminisced, a burning sensation forming behind her eyes. "Lan was very proud of him, just as proud as he was of Rand." Silence ensued. For long moments the women said nothing, each caught in their own memories. Nynaeve was the first to break the quiet.

"So what happened to you last night?"

"I met the Gwiddon," Egwene retorted, face grim. "It was her I tried to shield you from. But according to your story, you must have met someone of her acquaintance. I have my suspicions, but I'm not sure. I'm waiting for one of my eyes-and-ears to report."

She wanted to open her mouth and ask who Egwene suspected, but refrained and instead listened, hands folded in her lap.

"After you ran away, she attacked. There was no use of Power; it would be dangerous in the Dream World – not that she would mind me getting killed, but she was probably more afraid of her own pitiful life. Instead, we battled with wills, so to speak, and with artificial weapons. As you remember with the Spider, even artificial weapons can cause wounds."

Nynaeve nodded, a pang of hatred running through her. It was Moghedien's fault she was without husband. It was her fault Nynaeve could not be at the Battle and protect the father of her babies. It was her fault she fled and was haunted by nightmares. But no more; she had to put it all behind her for the sake of her children.

"We fought with swords, bows, daggers and crossbows. I'm surprised with her skills at weaponry. While she used all kinds, I certainly could handle nothing else but daggers and longbows. Unfortunately for me, I did not manage to inflict as much damage as she did to me. So I did the thing I knew best, and used _Tel'aran'rhiod_ against her. It was a race, really. There was more than once that I believed my life was about to end, but I managed to wiggle myself out of those situations, except one. I had been a fool and gotten in a tight spot with no possibility of escape; she had her dagger at my neck. She was ready to kill me, and told me so. Then suddenly – just as she was about to drive the dagger through me – she disappeared. Vanished into thin air. It took a minute for me to recover enough to leave _Tel'aran'rhiod_, and Gawyn was there. He bandaged my wounds, and then you arrived."

Nynaeve had to force down the smirk wanting to appear on her face. She wasn't used to experiencing other lovers' arguments, and it was a little comical. It reminded her of herself, really. Herself and Lan. She shook the thought out of her head. Egwene was looking at her quizzically, which she ignored.

"I gather from the lack of wounds that you had someone Heal you?" Nynaeve watched as red tinted the woman's cheeks for a moment. It took some time before she managed to word a reply.

"Yes," Egwene answered, looking pointedly down at her desk. "Gawyn convinced me to trust a former Youngling who discovered his ability to channel not too long ago. He's among the Yellow now, and quite skilled. But nothing to rival you, Nynaeve," she added, almost like an afterthought. Nynaeve didn't know what to say to that, and found the colourful curtains very entertaining. The silence dragged on as neither said a word. At least not until Nynaeve's stomach growled; it nearly echoed in the walls. Egwene emitted a chuckle.

"Shall I send someone for something to eat?" she asked, amused.

"I would appreciate that," Nynaeve replied, half-cursing at the continued rumbling. Her children gave an extra kick. "And so would the children." Egwene grinned as she stood up, crossed the room and ordered the Aes Sedai in the other room to get some dinner for two, one large and one small. When she returned, Nynaeve made sure her glare locked on to the other woman.

"So, have you discovered the sex of the babies yet?" Egwene enquired, sitting down behind her desk again.

"I haven't met many channellers with good intentions after leaving the Blight," Nynaeve said. "And if there were any, they did not know how to weave Caressing the Child, and I was in no mood to teach them. Besides, I have decided I do not want to know."

Not many knew what had happened in the time from when Nynaeve left the Blight and until she arrived in Two Rivers three months later. Not even Tam, whom she now considered as a good and close friend. He knew a lot about her grief, and perhaps tidbits of her journey through the World, but not everything. For a moment, she wondered if she should tell Egwene the story, but in the end, she resisted the temptation. It was sort of private, something she held for herself, and would not have told Lan if he'd been alive. It was her journey, only hers. Not one to be told to others, at least not the whole thing.

She deliberately changed the topic, and ignored Egwene's pointed look as she did so. "How's Rand?" The question had been burning in her ever since Perrin had told her of his bad way of handling the blindness. Egwene sighed and leaned back in the chair. And thus began a long and painful story.

It was when dinner arrived a half-hour later the young Amyrlin ended her tale which left Nynaeve feeling guilt at leaving after the Battle. Rand had not coped, that was sure. In the first month following Tarmon Gai'don, he had to be watched at all times after an incident that almost claimed his life. No one knew how his arms had been cut, but Egwene suspected it had been done by Rand himself. Anguish and remorse of the many killed plagued the man, along with the new handicap he found himself with. It was a big leap going from having people depend on him to the other way round, and he'd become introvert, anger flooding from his lips the few times he opened them.

The anger lessened over the next two months as he became more and more withdrawn. He still had the occasional outbursts, but he was more inclined to lie in bed all day, not eating, not sleeping. His wives had told stories of how he would suddenly channel during the wee hours of night, despite not seeing the threads of the weave, and involuntarily hurt furniture and sometimes people. This was why they still kept watch over him, day and night. And it was also why he fell further and further down.

He also had problems accepting the never-faltering loyalty of his peers – wives, children, friends, Maidens, Aiel and most rulers of the World – thinking his blindness made him weak and unacceptable, unworthy and incapable of being the Lord Dragon Reborn. As result of his doubt, he pushed away everyone; his family and friends, those who sought his counsel and others. Since the Battle, Egwene had only met him twice, and those meetings lasted mere minutes.

That was until a month ago.

Rand wrote her a letter, saying he wanted to talk to her about world's business. He had heard a rumour he wanted to clarify. Egwene and his closest friends and family were happy for this new turn of events. If he wished to engage himself in the world's doing, then perhaps he was on his way to healing. They met each other not long afterwards. And he'd been quite a sight.

Not shaved or showered in days and in clothes that had seen better days, Rand looked more like a habitant of Rahad in Ebou Dar than the Lord he was. He was reluctant to speak much; asked short questions and replied in quick sentences. Nonetheless, it was their longest meeting yet; it lasted a little under an hour. And Egwene felt there was hope for Rand in the end of the tunnel.

Watching the other woman eat with a sad grimace, Nynaeve swallowed her food with a grim taste in her mouth that did not originate from the roast lamb with apple jelly. She downed the spiced wine, feeling helpless. How could she have left them? How could she put her own welfare before Rand's? A Wisdom was supposed to take care of her fellow villagers, especially the younglings. Why in the Light had she done it?

Her appetite was lost, but she forced everything down, knowing neither she nor the children would benefit from her lack of eating. Egwene noticed, but said nothing. As soon as she'd cleared the plate, the Amyrlin stood up.

"Come," she said, gesturing Nynaeve to stand up. "Let us go down to the gardens; cool down, talk and let the food sink. Perhaps it will shorten the time until Beldaere is here."

Indeed, the time passed quickly as the women strolled – although Nynaeve waddled more than she strolled – among the rose bushes, apple trees and fields of flowers slowly succumbing to late autumn, talking of small, trivial things. The sky was free of clouds throughout the day, and the sun stood high, shining brightly but not giving away the warmth that followed summer; Egwene sent a passing servant to fetch cloaks for them both. Deep in the gardens, they found a white marble bench, and it was here the Aes Sedai Nynaeve had met in Egwene's Study found them in the late afternoon light.

"Mother," the plump woman said hastily and made a small curtsy. "Beldaere Sedai has returned from Two Rivers, and is currently in your Study."

"Thank you, Daughter," Egwene replied, haste and worry evident in her voice. "Tell him we will arrive shortly. You may go." And the woman scurried away before Nynaeve managed to get on her feet and follow the floating stole of the Amyrlin a few feet ahead. Catching up with her, Nynaeve couldn't hold in the remark she had longed to say.

"Considering your age and lack of own children, Egwene, I find it strange that you are called 'Mother'." Her dry comment brought a chuckle from the other woman as they hurried through the gardens, or as fast as Nynaeve managed.

Without turning to face her, Egwene replied smugly, "I find it strange that you have already forgotten the two children in your stomach who will soon call _you_ 'Mother', Nynaeve. And you are not much older than I am."

And with the other woman half-strutting forward with the grace of someone who just won a competition, Nynaeve hung back, muttering grumpily to herself. "That does put things in perspective, although Mama sounds better than Mother." Egwene's laughter rang in her ears all the way up to the Study.

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**TO BE CONTINUED**

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**_Author's Note: _**_Another chapter done, and I hope it was enjoyable! I'm astounded by how much time I really devote to writing, especially considering it's summer and that Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is out... What a fantastic book, despite its tragedies!_

**Now, heads up everyone, here's a vote! I have a BIG question for you: What are the genders of Nynaeve's children?**

**(x) Boy / Girl  
(x) Boy / Boy  
(x) Girl / Girl**

**Vote now and be part of a major decision! It might be the only decision you'll ever influate... I can reveal that I want to go for boy-boy (boy-girl is a well-used version, so I think it's boring)...so if you're against me, let me know and what genders you want!  
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_Anyways, please REVIEW and earn yourself virtual Chocolate Frogs:)_

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**Taiyoukai Lady - **_Does he? I guess I haven't thought of that... Hmm..._

**Ruinwen - **_Yes, I have mentioned it earlier, but I'll repeat it just for you. ;) Rhien believes Nynaeve was the one responsible for his family's death, and have hunted her ever since. The full story will come later, I promise. BTW, I'm flattered that you think I'm such a good writer! I don't think so myself, you see..._

**Neviwyn - **_My God, what do you take me for? Tam and Nynaeve? Yuck! Rest assured, they will never be an item. They're just friends. You see, I couldn't let Nynaeve sit alone in her cottage for months without having someone to help her endure the mourning, and since Tam lived not far away, I thought he was appropriate for a friend. Hope you liked this chapter!_

**Aria-Wolfstar - **_Thank you!_

**faeriepuck - **_Yeah, I checked those parts and corrected it. I'm happy you think it's good!_

**wow - **_I like Perrin/Faile too, so I just had to include them in the story. :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter!_

**Rachel - **_Was this chapter satisfactory? I hope I can keep you at the edge of your seat until the very end. _

**F75 - **_Thank you! It's nice to see you're still with me!_

**nightdweller - **_Well, you see, Rhien is a whole new character that I invented by myself, though it's hard to describe the pronounciation. He will be taken care of, I promise. :) Loved the new update from you, by the way! Can't wait to see what happens next!_

**Palanfanaiel - **_Yeah, I also like it when the bad guys show a little empathy (__tells you they still have hearts)__, especially seeing as Rhien is actually a man who's been misguided. His whole story will come later. _

**Tale - **_Hehe, you think so? I'm flattered!_

**dontfeedfred - **_Have I ever mentioned how much I love new reviewers? I'm happy you think this is a good WoT story, 'cause sometimes I wonder that it isn't... Oh well, aren't I a liar? _

**THKSkywalker - **_Yes, we will learn more about Rhien's past and hatred. In fact, it'll happen in next chapter. Then you'll know if she did it or not..._

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	10. Chapter 9: Memories

**_Disclaimers:_**_ I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there are anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

**_Summary:_**_ Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

**_Rating: _**_PG-13 (T)  
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**_Author's Note: _**_Are people aware that I have spent more than a year on this story? All I can say is: "wow" and "why on earth am I not finished yet?" It's strange really, to devote so much time to something like this... Anyways, I don't mean to get all sentimental when I want to thank all the people who has reviewed last chapter! You know who you are, and I have replies to you at the bottom._

_I would like to apologise to _**EvilChani**_ as I have just updated without receiving her betaed copy of this chapter. Sorry, but I'm going on vacation now, and just couldn't wait until I got back! I will go back and change things when I have received your copy, I promise...  
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_I also want to thank _**faeriepuck**_ who has beta read this chapter and came with suggestions and corrections. You're the best! _

_Now, enjoy the reading of one of the longest chapters so far! And remember to say a few words in a review!

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER NINE – Memories  
**_by neela_

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"Stupid, arrogant know-it-alls! They should be bent over and given a full-fledged spanking thinking me – _ME_, who wove far more complicated weaves while they were still wobbling around their mother's skirts – unable to perform a simple Delving because I'm pregnant!" 

To say that Nynaeve was angry was an understatement. Fumes were practically coming out of her ears and the vein on her neck was throbbing dangerously. Muttering below her breath while walking as briskly as she could towards Egwene's study, her knuckles whitened considerably from the urge to give her braid a thorough tug but refraining. Her glares sent a servant crashing into a wall, the sound of breaking porcelain following her down the corridor to the staircase.

"And why does the infirmary have to be placed three floors below the Amyrlin's Study!"

Nynaeve wanted to throw something, like the glass vase standing on a pillar near the wall. However, she resisted and continued down the white-marbled passageway, glaring at whomever passed be it Aes Sedai or Novice. Some (most times the Novices) took involuntarily a step backwards, while others continued on their way, unaffected, but she managed to send a fair-haired and slender White sister colliding with an open door. That gave her a small amount of satisfaction. But when the children started to boot the walls of her stomach in angry fits like herself, Nynaeve realised she had to calm down. Not that she did, but the thought was there.

It had all started when Beldaere came back. Egwene and she had arrived after a long climbing of the stairs (though this time she was also helped by weaves of Air shewas able tosee) to find the male Aes Sedai in the study, looking bedraggled. He had not bothered to stop by his quarters for a bath or change of clothes. Though, the smell of sweat and old blood soon disappeared as he told the story.

An hour after Egwene had issued the order, the groups of Aes Sedai arrived through Gateways all around the town, some ending up in the middle of Trolloc hordes. The sky was, as Nynaeve had described, black as night and gave the Shadowspawn an overconfident belief in their own abilities. Nevertheless, they were soon forced to break into retreat, and that was when the most mysterious thing happened: Gateways appeared here and there, giving the enemy escape routes which they used efficiently.

Beldaere did not know how the Gateways appeared, seeing as there were neither male nor female channelers among the Shadowspawn: Trollocs and Fades were all that was there. What he _did _find out, however, was how they created the blackness covering the sky. It was a sort of device not run by the Power, but rather by manpower. From what he could determine, you needed to add a powder which sent out smoke once wheels started running inside the machine. He gathered there were about twenty Trollocs running the device, each pushing its own wheel that connected to the machine. The device was currently in the hands of the Brown Ajah for a more thorough examination.

But none of this could compare to the dread Nynaeve felt when Beldaere told her how the Yellows had found the four men trying to protect her against the deadly Saldaean sword master. Two men were dead, one beheaded and one from the slash across his stomach, and while Tam al'Thor was Healed from the deep gash in his thigh, the local Lord was not as lucky. He was unconscious, not responding to the Healers' attempts, so they did things the ordinary way with tight bandages to stop the bleeding before transporting him back to the Tower and the infirmary, which was where she came from just now, highly emotional bordering to a full-fledged fit of rage.

The Yellows had barely let her do anything connected to _saidar_, not even a simple Delving. They had stood over her shoulder, commenting and harassing her about her methods and weaves until she felt the last drop of self-retraint disappear. That was when they learned to never get on el'Nynaeve Mandragoran's, Aes Sedai of the Grey Tower and Heroine of the Third Age, bad side. Seeing them either cowering a good five paces away from her or fleeing the room left her slightly less angry, but the irritation over them soon changed into irritation over her own inability to cure Perrin.

She managed to Heal his wounds (which made some people say it needed a larger amount of Power behind the weave than any of the first tries had possessed) but not to wake him up. And that infuriated her to no end, simply because she didn't know why, and did not want to admit that to the other Aes Sedai. Or the worried wife and Lady of Two Rivers who had been sitting right beside her husband, clutching a very pale hand in hers and alternating gazes between Nynaeve and Perrin.

Faile had followed from Emond's Field, leaving the Village Council and Women's Circle in charge, and she insisted that she had to be there the whole time. Nynaeve did not have the heart to send her away and instead settled for the fact that Faile was going towitness more of her bad side as the other Yellows continuedto comment and bickeramongst themselves.

While tending to Perrin, Nynaeve learned that Faile was taken away by _Cha Faile_ members shortly after her departure, and was taken into hiding for the duration of the battle. That piqued her curiosity a minute, and she asked if the women of the _Cha Faile _didn't long to explore their freedom now that the war was over. But Faile, lines streaking her face in worry making her look ten years older, only replied softly that they loved their life in the Two Rivers. As Faile reached out to brush away a stray hair from Perrin's face and at the same time stroking her still-flat stomach, Nynaeve fell silent, continuing the healing process while mentally swearing that she was going to get to the bottom of this mystery. Perrin _was_ going to wake up to see his child and wife; she would make sure of that.

At the moment, a trip to the Tower Library tempted her, but she felt the need to get back to Egwene and Beldaere to let them know of the progress, and to discuss the next step. It was likely that this attack was the first step of an evilly made plan which she – and probably Rand – were the centre of; the two peoplethat had ridden the world of the greatest darkness since the Age of Legends. A burst of irritation swept through her again. As if it wasn't enough to be wanted and hunted by a man thinking she had killed his family.

Rhien t'Aldar was a thorn in her side and had been for a long time, ever since before the Battle. Two times had he tried to murder her, excluding the attempt last night. And all that trouble for misinterpreting what was an innocent situation for her, but a guilty situation for someone else.

The real story began sometime in Taisham 1001 NE, during the winter in Saldaea, just a few days before hers and Lan's one-year anniversary. She was on a mission to hunt down a Black Sister that had infiltrated Egwene's inner circle and been the cause of her friend's capture by those loyal to Elaida a month earlier, just before Elaida's fall.

_For the last few days Nynaeve and Lan had been on the sister's trail, and were catching up with her. The traces of hooves were clearly visible in the thick snow, leading up to a farm less than a mile ahead of them to the north. They were hastening their speed when screams suddenly sounded through the cold, misty air. _

_Sparing a glance at each other, dread settling in Nynaeve's stomach, they galloped to the farm. Lan was quickly off his black stallion and searched the surroundings for their prey, sword drawn. Nynaeve jumped off her mare and went first around the corner of the small barn and immediately stopped. _

_Before her, on the open ground between farm house and barn, lay the body of a young girl; blood coloured the white ground beneath her. A hand was laid upon her shoulder and squeezed it slightly. She barely noticed as her gaze went to the open doorway of the farm house. The body of a woman, clothes strewn around her and blood running down the snow, made her close her eyes and reach a hand back for comfort. Lan took it gently in his, and despite the coldness of his fingers, Nynaeve drew warmth from him. _

_Seconds passed, and when she heard an anguished scream, she realised they were not alone. A man came from behind the farm house, an axe in his hands. As soon as he spotted the bodies, he fell down on his knees, letting out a howl that tore her heart in two. More victims at the hands of Halima Saranov. _

_She did not know how long they stood there before she became aware that the man was staring at her. Stepping forward, she prepared her speech in her mind, but never got that far. Suddenly, the man was on his feet and rushing at her, axe raised. Grasping _saidar_ never crossed her mind; her body stood as if rooted to the ground. _

_As the axe neared, it was thrown back by the strong force behind Lan's sword. She hadn't noticed him stepping around her, blocking the other man, who was currently up on his feet again and engaging Lan in a fierce battle. He was screaming too, something about her (Nynaeve) killing his family – he knew the signs of Power when he saw them. He wanted revenge. Lan was saying something back to him about it not being Nynaeve's doing, but a Black Sister's, which the man utterly refused to listen to. _

_In the end, Lan managed to slip in a knock against the man's head with the handle of his sword. The man went crashing into the snow. Nynaeve was quickly next to her husband to check for wounds. Seeing none, and Lan bobbing his head in sympathy towards the man, she went to him instead, soon assessing his injuries. There was only the nasty swell at the back of his head. _

_"You could have been more gentle, Lan," she reprimanded him over her shoulder. Getting over the shock, she did not feel angry at the man, only remorse and sorrow. She could sense Lan stiffen and try to stare a hole in the back of her neck. Concluding that a headache was all the man was going to get, she rose and walked over to her husband. They did not share a bond like Aes Sedai and Gaidin, but they had the bond of marriage. She could tell how worried he had been. _

_"I'm sorry," she said softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "I know how worried you were. Thank you for protecting me." Nynaeve wanted to bite the last sentence back, despite it being true. She could take care of herself, or at least given the chance! Instead, she bit her lip and tugged her braid. That brought a small smile to Lan's lips, and he touched her cheek softly. _

_"I will always protect you, Nynaeve. Especially when you think you need none." _

_That earned him a mouthful of angry retorts, along with sleeping alone that night. _

Smiling at the memory, Nynaeve forgot to check her path and suddenly crashed her foot into the first step of the staircase. Cursing below her breath, she ignored the need to rub her toe (not that she could reach down to it anyway, she couldn't even see it) and started on the way up.

They had stayed at the farm until the man woke up. Lan had the bodies brought inside and Nynaeve cleaned them and bound their wounds. The man was put in the bed located near the hearth, to which her husband added logs in order to keep the fire going. After an hour, the man stirred, and Nynaeve prepared herself for a new angry confrontation. However, the man stayed quiet and introvert throughout her entire explanation. It was like she never existed. Today, she almost wished she didn't.

They left straight after, leaving the man to his grief. The day after, they caught up with the Black Sister and, once shielded, made a Gateway back to Tar Valon. There, the interrogators learned that Halima Saranov was in reality Aran'gar, a reincarnate of the late Balthamel. Soon after that, life continued, and she and Lan's marriage bloomed even as Tarmon Gai'don drew neared and nearer. Their one-year anniversary passed, and suddenly, the man showed up again.

_It was no less than two weeks later, on the 27th of Taisham. Inside the Tower, the Hall of Sitters was discussing the possibility to merge the White Tower and the Black. Rand was there on behalf of the male channelers, having a verbal fight of wills with the annoying, stuck-up Sitters. Egwene wisely stayed out of the argument, only intervening when it went out of hand or had something to add. She wanted to merge the towers, but to do that, she needed the Hall's approval, and that was supposed to be happening now. _

_Nynaeve had watched the exchange of words for what seemed like hours, before Aviendha had come to her rescue and dragged her out for a stroll around the city. Stopping shortly by Lan to say where she went – and refuse to allow himto follow as they were two strong Aes Sedai who could handle themselves – they quickly left the Hall, Nynaeve ignoring the pair of eyes trying to stare a hole in her neck, and outside in the sun. _

_The snow lay as a blanket of whiteness, an image that looked unbelieving as the Last Battle approached. All seven seals had not been found, and though he had not escaped yet, they knew they were walking towards a battle that would most likely hold the presence of the Dark One. That was as sure as the large mountain in the east shadowing Tar Valon was raised from the ground by the powers – and death – of Lews Therin Telamon. _

_The signs of Tarmon Gai'don could be seen everywhere, from mothers refusing the children to go out without supervision to well-lit streets during the dark hours to a severe economic downfall for peddlers, traders and shopkeepers. On the other side of the bridges of Tar Valon, and this side, people became suspicious of everyone, even people of their own flesh and blood. Maybe especially them. You never knew when you were betrayed until it was too late. _

_But inside the city, despite its dark places, they could feel a little safer. You could not go through the streets without bumping into groups of soldiers with the tear of Tar Valon emblazed on their clothing. The streets were also well-lit, and it had been made illegal to hide one's face – walking with one's hood up was enough to land one in the cellars of the Tower. _

_Today, however, there was no need for lit lanterns. It was one of the first sunny days since the fall of Elaida, and signalled that the end of winter would come in just a few months' time. Therefore, Nynaeve and Aviendha did not, for once, argue with that particular law about the hoods. _

_Smiling and chattering, yet keeping themselves on the edge, the two women made their way to the markets, strolling among the shops and stalls to watch the items on display. While Aviendha spotted a man selling elaborate knives and made a beeline for him, Nynaeve stayed behind looking at the presented herbs (all in glass jars because of the cold) in one of the many colourful stalls. Sun bathed her face, giving warmth in the currently low temperature, and she felt more alive than she had done during the polar night. _

_Considering the weight in the small pouch at her waist, she opened her mouth to say she wanted to buy some of the dried hensfoot, but never got that far. _

_It all happened in a blur; someone yelled, a flash of pain stung her chest and the world threatened to go black. Silence met her ears, but she knew a fierce battle was going on beside her. Her knees hit the snow as a pair of arms grasped her shoulders and laid her onto a lap. She tried to see who it was, but it was all so blurry and the blackness wanted to take hold of her eyesight. _

_From the vibrations in the air, she assumed someone was talking to her, but she could not distinguish anything. The blackness overwhelmed her. _

_Later, she woke up and found herself in the infirmary of the Tower. Her chest was hurting, and she felt entirely fatigued. Even before she had fully opened her eyes, someone grasped her hand and talked to her. _

_"Nynaeve…" It was Lan's voice, soothing to her surprisingly sore ears. He stood by her bed, worry and relief in his eyes, as well as…anger? _

_During the next minutes, Nynaeve learned that Lan Mandragoran was like a bear with a sore tooth. He was angry at her for playing with her life in times like these. He was angry that he had to stand on the sideline while she was slowly slipping away from him, unable to do nothing but stare, and think. He was angry that he was denied the chance to kill the assassin. _

_Nynaeve felt tears well up in her eyes while her husband raged and stormed, but refused to let them fall; she pressed them tightly together, making stars appear beneath her eyelids. She had never seen him this angry, not even in Tear had he been so…so…frightening. She wanted to hide away, to shrink and disappear. 'Poke the meekest dog too often, and he will bite,'_ _Elayne had said once, and now Nynaeve understood her meaning. It only made her want to cry more. _

_Suddenly, Lan stopped his rant, but she didn't dare look up; she bowed her head deeper and looked the other way. Not until a hand touched her chin did she realise that he had moved. She didn't find the strength to fight him, and let him tip her face up to meet his eyes. They were full of remorse, and she soon found herself in her husband's strong and safe arms. _

_"For the Love of the Light, Nynaeve," he whispered softly in her ear. "You will be the death of me." _

_And she cried. _

It had been Rhien, again, who flung the knife in her chest that day. Lan had not obeyed her wishes, and followed the women due to an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. He had almost arrived too late; when he got there, she was already on her knees, her assailant on the run. However, before the man got too far, Lan had caught up with him and fought until the Tar Valon guards came, dragging the man to the cellars of the Tower. There he had undergone severe interrogations from members of the White Ajah, but not revealed anything that made him other than a simple man wanting revenge for his family.

Nynaeve had thought, afterwards, that she could be safe now, but little did she know at the time that someone was already making him a pawn in their elaborate plans. Two weeks before the Battle, while on their way to the Blight, a messenger came to the Amyrlin that one of the prisoners had escaped. Egwene had told Nynaeve, who became worried. She tried to be firm when she related the news to Lan, but was soon forced to swear she would be careful, and not go wandering on her own. The man had already shown his abilities, and he had to be in a league with someone powerful if he had managed to break free of the Power-wrought chains in the deepest cell of the Tower.

That fact had done nothing to boost her mood, and the last weeks before the upcoming were spent twitching and jumping at shadows, being suspicious of everyone and everything. Until she discovered she was with child. Her mind completely forgot Rhien and those who helped him and focused instead on the present. It was in fact not until she met Egwene in _Tel'aran'rhiod_ last night that she remembered the man who tried to kill her. Lan's death had clouded her mind for such a long time.

A melancholy emotion washed over her as she started on the last staircase. Last night she had finally let the thought sink, and could no longer deny that her husband was gone. And it hurt, so much. Tears wanted to well up in her eyes again, but she refused. There were people around, going up and down the stairs and back and forth in the hallways – they were not to see her suffering. It was private.

"Get a grip on yourself, woman," Nynaeve growled below her breath. "'Tis not the time."

Reaching the top, she immediately set off to the Amyrlin's study. She still drew a lot of attention – many recognised her from the Battle and descriptions from others – but she ignored them. It was not like she asked to be a heroine either! "Stupid, wool-headed fools." If anyone heard her muttering, they stayed wisely silent.

Moments later, Nynaeve stood outside the door in the Keeper's office, rising her fist to knock, but letting it fall again as she heard the muffled voices from inside the study. It was bad-mannered to eavesdrop, she knew that, but something in her mind made her throw good manners out of the window. A kick from the children had her half-amused; it was almost like encouragement.

"Don't tell anyone," she whispered to her stomach and leaned against the door.

"—saying the Telling is about the uprising?" That had to be Beldaere, from the baritone of his voice.

"Yes," replied Egwene's gentle voice. "The reports I have received has convinced me. I have even received a letter from the leaders, asking for information of her whereabouts. Obviously, they want her there to oversee the negotiations."

"If they had the honour of her presence, it would most certainly tip the scales in their favour. The ambassadors would not have much to argue about then. Their strongest argument for now lies in her disappearance."

"I would believe it does." A pause. "However, I do not know how to broach this subject. So much has happened; I do not wish to burden her more."

"To keep her in the dark of this is certainly not advisable. Sooner or later, it will come to light, and then she will want answers."

Egwene made no reply, and the conversation left Nynaeve curious. Of what and whom were they speaking of? And what uprising? She really needed to get herself updated on the world events. Staying in a cottage in the Westwood had only left her at a disadvantage and uninformed.

She pressed herself tighter to the door, trying to fish up more information, when suddenly the door to the Keeper's study opened and Nynaeve almost jumped to the roof. The plump Aes Sedai from earlier entered, and gave her a quizzical look. Glaring at the woman, she hastily knocked on the door and walked in at Egwene's 'enter'. The two people stopped their conversation, but Nynaeve did not miss the look Egwene sent her Keeper; they would continue later.

The Amyrlin sat behind her desk, hands folded over what looked like a formal letter – she could see the red seal at the bottom of the paper, and wondered if that was from the 'leaders' as Egwene put it. In one of the two chairs before the desk sat Beldaere, looking exactly as he did when first they met so many months ago.

Six feet tall, broad-shouldered and with a flashing grin that would make most women weak in their knees, Beldaere left Arafel to join Rand's Black Tower. Not long after, Egwene united the Towers, and when Siuan left her past behind to pursue a life with Gareth Bryne, she offered him the position of Keeper of Chronicles. He had been in the Green Ajah, if she remembered correctly, and had a wife. But Egwene told her that his wife had been killed not long after the Battle by the Gwiddon. During their brief meeting earlier this day, they had both offered their condolences and Nynaeve felt they now had a silent understanding.

Closing the door, she walked over to the other chair and sat down. Egwene looked at her expectantly, obviously putting aside whatever it was they discussed before she came. She wanted to blush a little as she wondered if the other woman had known she stood right outside the door, eavesdropping. Beldaere sat quietly in his chair. Nynaeve noted he had washed and changed during her visit to Perrin.

"I managed to Heal his wounds," she said resigned, leaving their mysterious conversation to be questioned later (discreetly, of course). "But I cannot wake him. Hishealth is restored, so I do not understand. This is nothing I have experienced before, and neither have I heard of it. I do not know when – or if – he will wake up." She half-threw her hands in the air dejectedly, harrumphing silently. Egwene looked thoughtfully, unaware that she was pinching at the ends of the letter. Beldaere sat eerily still, and said nothing, looking disinterested as he stared at the script on the bottom of the desk. When Egwene spoke, however, he sat up straight and listened.

"I will talk to the Brown Aes Sedai and have them go through the library to see if there is any documentation on the matter. I daresay they know their way around that mess better than we do." Nynaeve snorted. It was a wonder anyone could find anything in the chaos of rolls and scripts and tomes; there was absolutely no systematic order inside that library, but then again, when had the Browns showed a sense of order? For a moment, she was happy she decided to not go to the library. She might have gotten lost among the shelves.

Egwene cleared her throat, a twinkle in her eye, "I will tell them to bring whatever they find to your apartments. A desk will be brought there so you can work there in stead of the dusty library." Nynaeve gave her a grateful smile. "In any case, we need to move on to a more pressing matter." As Beldaere perked up at this, she sensed they would be discussing last night and the next step. Egwene stood to her feet and started pacing.

"The events of last night were – I believe – not a coincidence. For months now, I have picked up pieces of information and stray rumours which put together tells of a dangerous plot. Whoever is behind this has carefully and masterfully erased any trace that might lead back to him or her, or them, so we have nothing now to go on but three things: the Gwiddon, Rhien and the mysterious device." She paused, looking over at Nynaeve to see if she was hanging on.

At her nod, she continued. "The Gwiddon, Rhien and a third party fled Two Rivers last night and came to the outskirts of Baerlon. There, they disappeared through a Gateway. Why they waited for so long before escaping, I do not know for certain, but I have a hunch. Cyndane knew we were on her trail, and that Beldaere was most likely among the Aes Sedai who arrived at the battle. She also knows of his Talent of sensing traces of _saidar_ and _saidin_, and that he knows her 'smell', to put it that way. Therefore, I believe she wanted to avoid him knowing she had ever been there."

"Unfortunately, we have no idea of their new whereabouts, and can not send out another search party until we receive new information. However, that is not what worries me the most." Egwene sighed, standing with her back to Nynaeve and looking out at the setting sun. Her hands balled then relaxed, and she turned around to face them. Saddened eyes locked with her confused ones.

"As I think we have all come to realise, you are in danger. I believe it is not the Gwiddon who is behind all this scheming, she is too weak and has too little power. Nor do I believe that you are the only person they are after."

Nynaeve gasped, " Rand…" Egwene almost slumped down in her seat, nodding resignedly.

"This letter comes from him, written by Min. It is written in code, as we have been forced to do so as many attempts have been made on his life. They are currently in Caemlyn, after a group of Darkfriends uncovered his last hiding place and tore it apart. He's not faring very well. Remember what I told you earlier?" Nynaeve nodded. "Well, according to Min, his condition has worsened. They are not only attacking him, you see. They are also attacking those he loves and those who try to protect him, and he takes it harder than if it had only been him the Darkfriends were aiming for. Nothing seems to help counter the effect they have on him either."

"They are not trying to get to him the usual way with assassination attempts," said Nynaeve, beginning to understand the grave situation. "But rather through ways that hurts him more than a thousand knives in the heart."

"Yes, and I feel helpless," replied Egwene, rolling the letter up and putting it in one of the carved boxes on her right. With weaves of Spirit and Air, she locked the box and put an additional ward on it. Nynaeve felt anger rising in her chest.

"That stupid, silly boy," she muttered stiffly, momentarily forgetting the other two, who were now staring at her; Beldaere strangely, while Egwene had a knowing look upon her face.

"He could need a push," the Amyrlin said, giving her Keeper a wink. He just stared confused at her, but Egwene did not elaborate.

"Indeed he does," Nynaeve replied angrily. "And I wouldn't mind boxing his ears either. That Light-blinded wool-head!" She quickly stood up and, while forgetting all about those she left behind, stormed out of the study. If she had not been so livid, she would have heard the small chuckle from Egwene who proceeded to tell Beldaere that no one held such a fierce sense of protection of her 'fellow village people' than Nynaeve, nor did anyone fear the Wisdom who made one feel like a small child again as much as Rand al'Thor.

_

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_

Setting the untouched food tray on a small table next to the golden double doors for the servants to take away, Min looked over her shoulder. The big room was darkened by the shut litters, and only a few candles hanging on either side of the four-poster master bed and the left wall gave off a scarce light, but that was the way he wanted it. _Even though he cannot see anything_. They had tried to have the litters open, the hearth burning and add more candles, but that had made him terribly angry, something they were trying to avoid after last time. The scorch marks from uncontrollable fireballs were still visible on the walls where the forest-patterned wallpaper had faded.

The hangings were closed around the master bed – he didn't want people to see beyond them – but she knew what it looked like behind the dark red velvet curtains. Hidden at the bottom of the dark-coloured silk pillows beneath the matching featherbed cover lay a man troubled and pained by his sudden inability to see, drowning in guilt of the many killed during his reign (especially the women) and refusing to see anyone, even his children. Though they had all – Aviendha, Elayne and herself – managed to get to him before he could refuse their company. Min was there almost all the time, caring for him like she had before the Battle. Only this time she felt more sad and depressed by his demeanour, and often sought the company of the other women and the twins.

Sighing, she walked over to the windows. The curtains were drawn and the litters shut, though she sneaked around the curtains and found a small part of the giant window that she could open. Opening it carefully, trying to avoid any loud noises (his ears had become rather sensitive) Min breathed in the humid air.

It had just been raining, she could tell by the smell – wet grass and bark from the nearby trees drifted through her nostrils. She held her eyes closed, ravishing in the smells and sounds of the happenings right outside the window.

From far away she could hear the city buzz with life in a way that reminded her of Baerlon on a sunny day in the middle of spring, though that was not the case here. No, here in Caemlyn people were preparing for a hard winter, as they were probably doing all over the world. Much had been lost in the war; fields and forests had burned down, which led to many beasts and animals collapsing of hunger. There were just not enough food, and what little left were argued about in Elayne's court with her as the judge. She tried as best as she could to feed her subjects, and was so far succeeding. How she managed to get all the food, Min didn't know, but she suspected Elayne gave of her own stores.

In the training yard on the other side of the garden, someone was fighting and others cheering. Already a few weeks after peace had been restored, young men streamed to the capital to subject themselves to training, as the armies had suffered greatly at Tarmon Gai'don. She admired their courage and sense of duty, but didn't like this war business very much. It had taken much from her, and her fellow wives. At least they would have some peace now. Hopefully years, but despite her viewings, Min did not know as much about the future as people thought she did. She couldn't understand all she saw, and in the last few months the viewings had lessened. Of course, that might be because she spent most of her time inside _his_ quarters.

_You really should try and get out soon. It can't possibly be healthy to stay inside, no matter how much you love him and don't trust anyone else to care for him. _

Min exhaled noisily. A few birds and insects chirped here and there, but mostly it was silent – winter was coming after all. And with winter came the memories.

A year ago, he had married herself, Aviendha and Elayne. Tigraine and Tomas had come to this world not long after, and that winter had been one of their happiest. But then the preparations for war began, which separated them, and in the end came the Day that would drive him further into his depression. It was not rare that he muttered (or screamed) in his sleep about all the Far Dareis Mai and other women he had sent to their deaths. At one point, he had even believed Nynaeve had been lost in the Battle too, along with her children and husband. The fact that he had been rescued by her straight after the destruction of the Dark One held no importance to him.

_"She's not here, is she? No one knows where she is. Not even the Amyrlin's eyes and ears. She is gone. I made Lan fight, and he's dead. It's my fault. It sent her away, and now we do not know where she is. I might as well have killed her." _

Min could still remember his words, spoken on a dark, chilly night two months after the Battle. She had said the opposite to him: that Nynaeve was alive, that it was not his fault, that he had not killed her. He hadn't believed her. He still didn't believe her, and now she was loosing faith too.

There had been no words of Nynaeve's appearance, and it said a lot. She had been proclaimed a Heroine of the Third Age, and drawings of her could be found in all the major cities. At least it could a month ago. Now the people were losing faith also. No Dragon Reborn, and no Arwres. No wonder people were distraught and edgy, causing riots. They had none to look up to in this time which was supposed to be used to celebrate the victory and continuing peace.

Her eyebrow furrowed. _But maybe there is some merit to the few rumours of her being spotted in Bandar Eban three months ago. If Nynaeve is gone, why is the uprising still raging and – _A movement on the other side of the curtains and a muffled voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Close the window."

The order was harsh, but it went straight over her head; she was getting used to it. Sighing, Min closed the window and went back to the other side of the curtains. The hangings around the bed were untouched and there were no more sounds, but she knew he was awake and listening. Walking over to the bed, across the few rays of light from the candles, she slipped behind the hanging and sat down. His back was turned to her and hidden beneath the cover, but she thought she could spot his red hair on the bottom of the pillow.

"You didn't touch your food," she said quietly. Silence met her. This would lead nowhere, she knew, but she had to try. "You should be sorry, it was delicious. The cook had outdone herself this time – the fried vegetables were a wonderful accompaniment to the crusted beef, and the mushroom sauce unforgettable. And to dessert there were fresh sugared berries from the other side of the Aiel Waste. I do not know the name, but they tasted very good."

The silence stretched on, and she received no response. Sighing, she wrung her hands while wanting to hit him. She hated the state he was in! It made him so much less the man she loved, the man he could be despite his blindness. People still coped, even if they were blind!

"Do you need help with anything?" Min asked instead, suppressing her irritation, reaching a hand out to lie on his shoulder. It was brushed away brusquely with a short 'no'. She almost wanted to box his ears, like Nynaeve had done in one of his childhood stories, but it would have no effect. She made to leave when suddenly there was a lot of commotion outside the doors.

At first her breath caught in her throat – many wanted to kill Rand, which was why they often moved between places – but she soon realised it didn't sound like a battle was taking place. Someone was most certainly trying to get in, but they were rather _arguing_ their way in than _fighting_. It sounded like a cat's choir, with voices shooting here and there and mixing together in such a shrill turmoil that Min had to shield her ears.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Rand bend over and stuff his hands over his very sensitive ears. Seeing him in such pain made her act, and she quickly jumped off the bed and walked briskly towards the door. However, as she came nearer she could clearly hear the argument outside, and most importantly, who the visitor was. There was no mistake of that voice, especially when it argued in pitch-high tones that had quickly become familiar to her.

"—out of the way, you stupid girl! That wool-headed nitwit of sheepherder who doesn't seem able to tell one end of a duck from another is not worth your protection! A thick-headed fool that man is, wallowing in self-pity when the world so obviously needs him to take responsibility! He needs a good talking-to, and a thorough boxing of ears, though I will leave the—" Min consciously ignored what the person said, heat rising in her cheeks "—to his numerous wives, I'm sure they would enjoy that! Now let me through!"

And before Min knew what happened, the doors were blasted off their hinges and collided heavily with the walls on either side, the sounds of broken wood and porcelain following rapidly. She managed to shield her face from stray pieces of wood and glass flying through the air, but let the arms fall quickly when the person spoke again. Or rather screamed at the top of her voice.

" Rand al'Thor!"

In the now open and empty doorway stood a very pregnant el'Nynaeve Mandragoran, face beet red from anger, and arms thrown out to the sides with a look thatshot daggers at the heap on the bed that was Rand. Over the woman's shoulders Min could see the astonished – and a little frightened – looks upon the Maidens' faces. They had obviously not met Nynaeve before. Standing on the side of room, she was plainly overlooked by the now raging, braid-tugging woman marching forwards with her eyes set on the bed. The hangings fell prey to whatever powers she had used on the doors, and Min watched as Rand huddled closer and closer together, wincing at the angry screams, though not covering his ears.

"What is this I hear! Lying in your bed for weeks, hardly eating, refusing anyone who knocks on the door, and believing the World will sort itself out without your intervention!"

Min winced from the shrill tone. The woman had not only a sharp wit – her tongue was not far off. Not for the first time did she wonder how Lan had put up with this woman. Her eyes followed Nynaeve as she walked, hands waving while viciously tugging the braid so hard Min thought it would be ripped straight off her scull. She involuntarily took a step backwards. Had she ever said she didn't fear the old Wisdom? If she had, she would most certainly take that back now.

"You Light-blinded, dim-witted mudfoot! Thinking it doesn't matter whether you stay alive or not! Of course it does! You're the Dragon flaming Reborn! You're the bloody ruler of the Westlands, even if it is unofficially!"

From where she stood, Min could see the fire in the woman's eyes as she reached the bed. Her braid was tugged violently. Even though Rand could not see his old Wisdom, he did definitely shrink back at her presence; if it was possible, he balled himself even further into the covers.

"Now get out of there!" With that, Nynaeve grasped the bed sheets and flung it all away, leaving a shocked and struggling man in its wake, trying to get them back. By their own accord (or rather Nynaeve's powers) the curtains were thrown aside so that the last rays of sun streamed in and revealed a spot-on naked man, at least the back of him. "And have you wondered why underclothes were invented! Because it's decent!"

Min was sure her eyes were popping out and her jaw reaching the floor as Nynaeve let out another stream of colourful language she was sure would make a sailor's ears go pink. _Of all I had imagined… _Her lips twitched, but she refrained from smiling. The scene was highly amusing, and she would've laughed had it not been for Nynaeve immediately twirling around on her.

"And you!" Nynaeve pointed her finger at her. "Get this man a bath! I want him shaved and clothed too! Then we shall talk!" And with that she turned on her heels and marched (as best as she could) out of the room. Only once she was out of earshot did Min laugh. And she laughed a long time too.

_

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_

A while later found Nynaeve sitting in a small and comfortable sitting room. In one end of the room a hearth blazed to life and gave off warmth to her chilled bones. The windows were closed as it had begun to rain again outside, but the weather could not dampen her mood. Elayne's children were clucking with glee at the funny faces their mother pulled at them, and it warmed her heart to look at them.

At eleven months, Tigraine had inherited her father's wild, red hair and her mother's sapphire blue eyes. According to Elayne, Tigraine was the sleeper of the twins, and could make it through a whole night and not disturb Lini, who had become their nurse. Her twin, Tomas, however, often woke in the middle of the night and demanded food. He had grey eyes and red-golden, curly locks. Where Tigraine was small and slender, Tomas held the promise of growing up to become as tall as his father. Nynaeve smiled. They were adorable, and she began wondering how her children would look like. Not to mention, what gender they would be.

"You know, Nynaeve," Elayne said, noticing her longing gaze and understanding, "I can Caress the Child, if you want me to."

At first, she wanted to say 'yes', but then she began to think. Did she really want to know the genders? Or should she wait until birth? She could of course let Elayne perform the weave, and just leave out the genders. She truly wanted to know if they were healthy and if there would be any problems.

"I would like that very much," she said finally, giving the woman a beam. "I have not had anyone to check on the babes since the Battle, and I would like to know if they are alright. But not the genders; I want that to be a surprise." Elayne winked and motioned Lini to come and take the twins. The neat, reed thin woman with gnarled fingers and white hair was over at once, taking the children in her arms. Although the twins showed their longing for their mother, they did not have anything against their nurse who smiled at them.

"There's no point letting honey age too long before you eat it," the nurse said to Nynaeve, turning towards the door. "Their genders won't change now, so what is the point of waiting?" With that she gave her a warm smile and left for the children's nap, while Nynaeve sat pondering her words. What was the point really? She might as well get over it.

"I have changed my mind; I'd like to know their genders." Elayne beamed at her and grasped hold of _saidar_. Then she began the weave that resembled Delving, but had an entirely different effect. Nynaeve sat with her hands in her lap, twitching nervously while Elayne worked. _No turning back now. Well, at least I'll be able to choose whether to give them girls' or boys' clothes. _

Just as Elayne let go of the Power, the door to the room opened to reveal Rand walking unsteadily on his feet, led carefully by Min. Now that she saw him in a new light for the first time, Nynaeve felt an enormous amount of pity. He did not deserve all this. _Neither do you_, said her inner voice, but she ignored it.

Towering above all the three women with his six and a half feet and broad shoulders, Rand had the same red-tinged, unruly hair and pale reflection, albeit paler due to his self-mistreatment and lack of sun. His grey eyes were open and stared empty in front of him, and she noticed how his head jerked from side to side, responding to the loud sounds as Min led him to an vacant chair. He obviously had not gotten used to the sensitivity of his ears yet, and he had spent far too much time lying still as he almost wobbled on his feet. Though his clothes seemed to cover it, he had lost weight and that could partially explain the sunken stature.

Forgetting about the children for a moment, Nynaeve stood and walked over to the man. Min stood off to the side, giving her room, but followed her movements closely and protectively. _She must have been the one to take most care of him._ Meeting the woman's gaze, Nynaeve nodded briefly before concentrating on Rand.

She cherished the sensation of new life and happiness following as she grasped the Power. It felt freeing, and _alive._ Nynaeve bent down and took hold of Rand's head. He jerked at this, but she held it firmly and began the Delve, gently soothing him and focusing on what she saw.

The two old wounds in his side glared at her as they always had, never wanting to be healed, not even after the Dark One had been destroyed. As she assumed, he was undernourished – probably on his own accord – and though he had lost weight, it was not down on a dangerous level. Pushing all that to the back of her mind, she concentrated on his eyes. There seemed to be nothing wrong with them, but still he could not see. It was like a fog had settled around the eyes, clouding his vision and making it lost in the white mist. Her brow furrowed and she felt the irritation swell in her. Cursing mentally, she opened her eyes and let go of _saidar_.

"Well?" Rand asked, his voice raspy and uncertain. He moved his head in her direction as she sighed.

"I do not understand," she replied resignedly and returned to her chair. Min immediately kneeled beside Rand's chair until a servant brought one for her, but still held herself close by. Nynaeve continued. "There is this kind of fog that lies around your eyes, which cannot be driven away by a simple Healing. You have been blinded by the Dark One himself – I do not expect this to be an easy task. But anything short of death can be Healed, I know it!"

Silence ensued. No one knew what to say. Rand looked heartbroken, and held his head down. Though the fact that he was in this room told Nynaeve of how much progress she was making on the depressed man. And she intended to finish it. A Wisdom never abandons her own people.

**Perhaps the weed you received from that old lady might work** said a voice at the back of her head.

_No, she gave it for me to use. I promised to not use it on others than myself._

**It is tempting, though… Both Perrin and Rand could benefit from its use. **

_No_, she told the voice firmly. _I will only use it on myself. That is, if I can find it again. The Trollocs have probably torn down my cottage and made a complete mess. I shall be surprised if I can find anything at all. After all, Tam said the only thing not broken or torn apart was Lan's shirt. Lan… The weed… _

Someone put a hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts. Looking to the side, she found Elayne staring at her with a smile. "In three months' time, you are going to give birth to two healthy baby boys, Nynaeve."

She could not do anything but returning a smile that seemed to split her face in two.

_

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**TO BE CONTINUED**

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_Author's Notes: _**

_Another chapter done, and I am beginning to see the light in the end of the tunnel. Yes, that's right, I'm beginning to see the end of the story. All in all, I believe it will be 18 chapters, including prologue and epilogue. Of course, this can change, but it is not very likely._

___As people can see, I have decided our heroine is going to have twin boys. The vote ended 50-50, so I had to make a choice, and found that it was best for my plans to have two boys. There is a stronger reason for this, but I will not reveal that now. It would spoil everything. _

___I do hope everyone enjoyed this chapter (I certainly did!) and that you'll keep reading! It would be terrific if you could leave a piece of your mind - just push the button down on the left side of the page that says "submit review". I would be forever grateful!_

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**Taiyoukai Lady -**___Yeah, well... Although people are unique, you find those who are very similar. It's one of those things that you can't escape, no matter what. As for me, well, I get inspired by other characters and can't seem to show very much creativeness in the new character department.  
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**Aria-Wolfstar -**___Hey, watch out who you're accusing... You never seem to be online when I am online... (wink) And I do not believe I will have a tomboyish girl, at least not in this story (she is going to have two boys, after all). Maybe in some other story, we'll see... :)_

**F75 -**___Thank you! It's nice to have not too many objections, though the vote ended 50-50. Hehe, it is kind of hard to be an impartial judge then... _

**discordchick -**___Perrin will...be okay... Just not right now. It will take some time. _

**faeriepuck -**___Careful now! We wouldn't want anyone to know of the Master Plot To Get Lan Back Alive, would we:D I really appreciate what you do for me. If I knew your address, I would've sent you an original, Norwegian milk chocolate. They're excellent! (want chocolate...)_

**Tale -**___Thank you, and I hope you're not too disappointed it's not boy/girl... _

**nightdweller -**___I'm going, I'm going! Sorry you didn't get what you voted for (geez, I sound like a politician), but as the vote ended fifty-fifty, I felt the need to take a choice. By the way, twin boys will fit nicely in my future planning... I'm soooo looking forward to the end of this story, and not in a bad way. (wink)_

**Danyu -**___Thank you! I love new reviewers, by the way... Virtual chocolate frog to you!  
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	11. Chapter 10: Ambush

**_Disclaimers:_**_ I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there are anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off! The ceremony at the end is taken from the Great Hunt, and do not belong to me._

**_Summary:_**_ Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

**_Rating: _**_PG-13 (T)_

**_Author's Note: _**_I have spited the flu I'm currently experiencing and finished the chapter. No self-pity here, though my nose is very runny and I have a funny cough, and I am swearing to tomato and chicken soup! _

_Thanks to all who have reviewed, and to my wonderful beta reader **faeriepuck**! You are the best, and this is for you! Enjoy the chapter! _

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER TEN – Ambush**  
_by neela_

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A hand went up to cover the yawn Nynaeve felt building up. In despite of many good nights' sleep, she found herself growing more and more tired during the daytime, though it was pushed off as nothing but apart of her pregnancy. It was usual for expecting mothers-to-be to require more sleep than usual, and Nynaeve knew she also had to catch up on some much-needed sleep which she had deprived herself of during the first and second trimester when she experienced the nightmares and was mourning Lan's death. 

Her face scrunched up in a hard grimace.

The woman Egwene had (out of the blue) appointed as her advisor – claiming every rulers needed an Aes Sedai advisor though Nynaeve suspected it was more behind it than the Amyrlin would let on – had reacted strongly when she had told Sharina how tired she was and then forced to spill the beans of her sleep-deprived nights. The Kandorian had practically wrapped the covers around the young Yellow and closed the curtains so that she would sleep. Not that she minded the extra rest, it was in fact a relief for her body, but she hated the bossy demeanour which forced her into bed. And if there was one thing Nynaeve did not like, it was when someone tried to push her around, especially when they succeeded. It was usually the other way round.

In her case, she had been forced to stay in the infirmary bed for days at end, and all that because of one pain in the butt.

Sharina Melloy was by far the tallest (and maybe the eldest) of the sisters in the Tower infirmary, towering above the others at her five feet seven inches. Greying hair with streaks of brown was put in a delicate knot at the base of her slim neck, fastened with elaborate jewellery in forms of birds-in-flight, with curly tendrils framing an ageless face with a soft nose, thin lips and sharp, blue eyes. As was tradition to Kandorian women, she usually wore dresses with heavy embroidery, and a wide variety of jewellery (particularly earrings), and of course the yellow-fringed shawl gained after she passed her Testing and had become Aes Sedai, something she had done less than a year ago.

Nynaeve could remember Egwene mention her name while the Little Tower held residence in Salidar (she had been a Novice then), and also from her own Testing to Accepted. Sharina had been part of her third possible future, when she had imagined herself and Lan happily married in Malkier with their daughter Elnore, son Maric and an unnamed baby. She had been the King's Aes Sedai advisor, like she was now. But with Lan gone and no daughter on the way, Nynaeve had felt a small stab in her stomach when she met Sharina the first time, being painfully reminded of a future that would never happen. Though, there was one thing that had not changed from her Testing to present time: Sharina's effect on Nynaeve.

The Kandorian was like a mountain during a storm; she managed to quall Nynaeve's protests and fits even when the pregnant woman was at the height of her anger, in a way painfully similar to Lan's, though at the same time, different. She was like the stern grandmother Nynaeve never had, whereas Lan hushed her up with a single kiss, and it made her even angrier.

So in the fifteen days Nynaeve had known the woman,there had been no less than thirteen confrontations and arguments between the two of them. She did not understand why in the Light Egwene had appointed this woman to herbecause she was impossible, stubborn, bossy, strict and had the irritating habit of tapping her foot while conversing. Sharina acted as if Nynaeve was a small insolent girl who knew nothing more than a five-year-old and needed to be told what to do at every turn. She had tried to take it up with the Amyrlin, but the young Emond's Fielder had just laughed at her and denied Nynaeve's request for another advisor, saying something about "tasting your own medicine" before leaving the Tower with Gawyn to visit his mother who had settled down in the country after Elayne gained the throne.

It made her furious.

Glaring at the smug look upon Egwene's face that suddenly appeared, as if she knew what Nynaeve was thinking, the Yellow crossed her arms beneath her breasts, although it proved to be a little difficult with her expanding belly.

At a little more than seven months, Nynaeve felt as big as a house, and certainly looked as if past normal term, and was experiencing mood swings that would change in seconds. One moment she was happy, next raging and the following depressed. Though she knew it was normal during a pregnancy, it annoyed her nonetheless, especially when her thoughts began to wander to her deceased husband and that foolish attempt which had led up to the first encounter with her "advisor".

_The cottage was eerily quiet. Cracks in the roof, broken windows, unhinged doors and the large hole Nynaeve had made in order for her escape gave way to the sun's early rays. Standing in the doorway, Nynaeve held back the rage wanting to take control. If she had had one Trolloc (or Fade, preferably) at hand now, she would not be able to guarantee its further existence. The Shadowspawn attacking her that night a week ago had left everything a big chaos, including Emond's Field._

_The town had suffered greatly from the enemy attack; parts of the Wall had been torn down, fields had been burned off, houses had been destroyed in fires, and last but not least, people had died. Nynaeve felt a lump in her throat as she began to think of the unnumbered wounded, and the eleven bodies buried during the past ten days. The Wisdom – Athena Coral – had been among the casualties; she was seemingly hit by an arrow as she made her way to the manor in reply of Faile's request. Nynaeve realised that no one was keeping the Women's Circle in check, as neither of the Wisdoms from the other villages had time to spare for the Emond's Fielders. When she arrived to the town this morning, many had turned a hopeful eye to her which she ignored in favour of the trip to her cottage. She almost regretted that now. Faile would have a handful once she came back from the Tower, but Nynaeve could have helped her a little._

_She exhaled noisily, letting her eyes wander._

_"I told you it wouldn't be a pretty sight." Tam appeared behind her right shoulder, steadying her as she leant on the doorframe and almost stumbled. She acknowledged his comment only half-heartedly; she was busy staring at what had been a very cosy cottageand her home._

_Broken furniture, ripped clothing and paper, shards of glass, crushed herbs and bulky copper utensils littered the hard-trampled ground, which also sported a few deep and tricky holes. The rugs on the ground had been torn apart and strewn around, along with the scarce wall hangings she had used for decoration. The long table with additional chairs had been broken in several pieces and lay upside-down all over the cottage. It seemed her bed had suffered the same viciousness; feathers from the pillows and cover lay almost like a blanket of snow over the bedroom floor, mingled with the hay from the mattress. _

_Her eyes flittered over to the fireplace, forcing her to see the fate of her favourite and treasured reading chair. She gasped when it turned out it was gone, and she could not see anything that resembled the cushioned chair among the other pieces of wood. It seemed to have vanished in thin air. What she could see, however, were the shattered remains of the beautifully carved crib and the chest Tam had made for the children less than two weeks ago, and the abandoned sewing basket that had stood beside her reading chair – now it lay close to the wall, tipped to its side, ready to be taken away._

_"It doesn't matter now," she muttered. "I won't ever be able to sew anything, so why bother?" A chuckle from behind made her aware of the man again and she turned sharply to him, clutching her restless stomach. Tam stopped as soon as he saw the look upon her face. _

_"I am sure many of the local women will sew for you," he said with a barely covered smile. "If you ask them," he added. Nynaeve huffed and strode into the room, starting to search for the item which she had come for. Seeing the broken shelves, she immediately went for them. A few leather-bound books that looked to be whole lay behind a piece of shelf, but she ignored them, going for the few unbroken jars of glass lying in the far corner beside the hearth._

_"What are you looking for?" Tam asked, watching her from the doorway. _

_"Herbs," she replied easily, "to take care of a queasy stomach, fatigue, headaches, and the like. It is better for the pregnancy than using the Power." It was only a half-lie, even without her having sworn on the Oath Rod, but it plagued her that she found herself forced to hide the truth from Tam. But it was for the best if she was the only one who knew._

_After her visit in Caemlyn, Nynaeve had been pondering the idea of using the weed she had received from the old lady a month ago. Her first thought had been what a ridiculous fool she was to believe it was actually going to get Lan back alive, for that was what she meant had been the most evil thing done to her. Then after a while, she had gotten it in her mind that it might work, and she should try, but still doubted it would have the desired effects. Last night, however, all her doubts and further beliefs had been put to rest when she announced to Egwene she was returning to her cottage. She claimed it was to assess the damage and see if there were anything she would like to take with her to the Tower, but the real reason was to find the mysterious weed. _

_Tam came into the room, apparently looking for items that were still intact. From the corner of her eye she could see him studying the broken crib with a grim expression, before moving his eyes to the chest that looked partially whole and littered with something she could not determine. She looked back on the floor beneath her filled with heaps of mixed herbs. It was difficult and straining to stand on her feet, and she could not effectively bend over, so she found a few pieces of wood from the old bench that would work as a make-shift stool. Holding onto whatever solid she could reach, she sat down and balanced carefully before spreading her legs so that she could lean forward and reach down without her stomach getting in the way._

_Leafing through the heaps of greenish and brown herbs, weeds and dried flowers, Nynaeve let her mind drift back to her last visit with Rand. He had looked better, albeit marginally so. He ate at least whatever she demanded be set in front of him, and answered more in sentences rather than disinterested one-words. It had been painful to see him, even though Egwene had described the situation pretty well. Though, she could not remember feeling so until after her tirade in his chambers. It had been good to vent out. He was after all a foolish, stubborn, idiotic wool-head! _

_During that visit, she had scrutinized the strange fog around his eyes, and tried out varied weaves of her own making. After three hours of blindly going around in circles inside his mind, not finding a weave that was helpful, she had in the end stumbled across something that did at least stir the fog somewhat. She would not deny it had brought hope to her, and an idea for a healing method. _

_Applying the weave and leaving it on for a few hours (it drew strength from Rand, so he could not have it on for more than two hours without risking his life) would make the fog go away a little by little. It always seemed to return, but never to its former thickness. So over time (she did not know how long it would take) she would apply and perfect the weave until he regained his eyesight permanently. That was her goal._

_A fowl stench rose to her nose and brought her quickly out of her thoughts. Her hands fiddled until they brought up the offending weed. Her face fell when she realised it was not the one she had been looking for. If only I had left it in its ruddy box! You are a very foolish woman, Nynaeve. She growled below her breath and threw the herb back on the floor. There was no way she could use even a third of it – most of the herbs had been destroyed or lost its abilities after being flung out of the jars and exposed to the Darkness' dying effect on the living._

_Tam suddenly spoke up from inside her – former – bedroom. _

_"I found these in the remnants of the chest," he said and turned to show her the two small baby blankets she had received from Faile at one of their "tea-and-strawberry-creamed-tarts visits". They were sewn by a local seamstress in a light green material Nynaeve did not recognise, but felt soft and comforting to the touch. According to the Saldaean, it was from the other side of the Aiel Waste. Silver and gold threads formed intricate patterns of flowers, clouds and trees. And a crane, she added quietly in her mind. That was probably Faile's doing; Nynaeve had not asked for the crest. She felt an indescribable emotion rise in her chest as she gazed at the small blankets, and stroked her inactive stomach affectionately. _

_The man saw the look in her eyes and walked over to her, holding the blankets delicately in his hands, as if afraid of losing them on this dirty and tainted floor. Reaching her, he sat down on his knees and looked her in the eyes. "They are beautiful," he said with a smile. Nynaeve grinned slightly._

_"No, not beautiful," she corrected. "They are perfect." _

_Tam looked them over, smiling gently before tilting his head up at her. "I do believe you're right. Shall I put them in the basket?" He was referring to the straw basket standing just inside the doorway where she had left it; it was meant to carry the things she wanted to keep. There would be no coming back later._

_"Yes, thank you," she said. "Would you mind looking for clothes that are still whole and put them there as well?" Tam nodded and went to do it, leaving Nynaeve to the pile of herbs again. She sighed. Why was it that when you didn't look for something, you found it, but when you really needed it, it vanished into thin air? Grumbling, she dug one hand into the pile and took out a handful of leaves, petals and roots. She sniffed carefully at it, remembering the characteristic foul stench of the herb, but it wasn't there. Loosing hope, she dropped the handful into a new pile and dug in again._

_This continued for another half-hour, while Tam searched through broken chests and lifted pieces of wood for things to put in the basket. Nynaeve found herself becoming sad as all she could find was the box in which the weed had been in. Her mind began to scream at her that this was silly – she should just stop driving herself through this foolish misery – and it had almost convinced her when something rolled through her nostrils._

_An indescribable disgusting smell._

_She could barely restrain her joy when her hands grasped tightly around the knurled and fowl-smelling weed, but she didn't mind that. Her mind was too happy in finding it and hoping it would work as it should. Remembering every word the woman had said, she quickly popped half of the weed in her mouth. Beginning to chew, she couldn't hold back the disgusted look upon her face as she realised the taste was even worse than its smell. A part of her wanted to spit it out, but the other part – the dominant one – ignored it and hurried to chew before swallowing it._

_She waited._

_And waited._

_And wai—_

_Suddenly, a searing pain went through her head, down her spine and up again, spreading out to the tips of her toes and fingers. She had little time to feel a pair of arms grasp her around the shoulders before everything went black._

It had been stupid, Nynaeve had realised afterwards, in the dark of one sleepless night. Stupid to loose herself in myths and old tales from an old lady she knew nothing about – perhaps the woman was a Darkfriend, and the weed a poison to finish her off in revenge. Though the children were not harmed, and she only escaped with a blinding headache and restlessness, it had indeed been reckless of her to eat something she knew little about without studying it first. What if it had gone totally awry? What of Lan's babes then? And Malkier? No, she did not want to think of it right now. She had done so earlier nights.

Sharina had pestered her about the recklessness, and demanded (every day) to know why she had been so stupid and if she realised the severity of her actions and if she had learnt her lesson and more questions Nynaeve was outright denying to answer. She did not care if how she acted seemed childish or unwarranted for – she was too angry with herself, felt too guilty and was too shocked at the negative consequences that she simply did not care.

_You have to face this, Nynaeve,_ she remembered saying to herself for the umpteenth time while gazing at the stars outside the window above her infirmary bed. _The weed was not special at all.__Lan is not coming back to life. You have been tricked; now get on with your life!_

A lump formed in her throat, and her eyes began to burn. _No, not now. Not in front of the others._ She spared a quick look at the other two women sitting in the same carriage as her, leaning against comfortable pillows in bright colours.

Egwene was reading a letter that looked very informal, while Sharina sat staring at the landscape passing outside the little window on the side of the carriage. Though they did not seem to notice her present distress, Nynaeve forced herself to calm down. Damn pregnancy! Her children gave a small kick against her stomach as if to answer her thought, and it made her smile slightly. _No, I do not hate you,_ she assured in her mind. _I cannot believe how much I love you. I love you almost more than…_

The carriage bumped suddenly as it hit a hole in the dirt-ridden road. The other women were startled and looked around suspiciously as if there was some sort of ambush taking place, but as the carriage continued, they went back to what they were doing, though Sharina found a small knitting set which she carried to work on, and Egwene dug forth another letter from a small wooden box she had brought with her. She could see it was covered in wards invisible to non- and male channelers, so she assumed it was full of secret and important documents. Why Egwene had decided to bring it along, she did not know, but stayed wisely away from the question. Perhaps it was to safeguard it against infiltrators in the Tower.

Nynaeve stroked her belly, looking at the orange-yellow fields outside the window on her side of the carriage. Autumn had hit them spot-on, but it would not last long until the winter came. Especially as they were moving further and further north. She imagined how the early snow would lay across the mountains when they reached Shienar, as a white blanket covering sleeping mythical creatures from tales of old. When she had been there last winter, children had defied the dangers of the looming Tarmon Gai'don and gone outside their houses, playing in the snow and having a wonderful time. Their parents let them enjoy this life, knowing it might not last forever.

One of those winter days, Nynaeve had walked through the streets of Fal Moran, waiting for the day when the armies would arrive and they would proceed to the Blight, feeling the dangers hang over her like a shadow. When she saw those children so carefree and happy, it had made her sad at first, and then fiercely protective, before she couldn't help smiling at them. She had stopped and watched a group of youths throwing balls of snow at each other, and Lan had put his arm around her.

_"Someday, you will see our child among those." _It was the first time he had given a hint of wanting children with her, and it had touched the very core of her heart. Her cheeks flushed a little as she remembered the following night.

Nynaeve could recall a time when she had not thought much about wanting children, but after her husband had uttered those words, she desired nothing more. So when she had discovered the day before the Battle that she was carrying two of Lan's children, her first reaction had been complete happiness. Then she realised the dire situation she was in, and broke down. She remembered being with Min and the other women, being Delved and talking about the children. Then Lan had come, and she had believed he was angry at her for not telling earlier and promptly fainted. The night which followed had been one of her worst, and best. She had seen Lan shed a tear. She had received his bond from Myrelle. They had made love as if there would be no tomorrow. It had been an eventful night, and it had prepared her for the following day in a way she did not fully understand, but did not question either.

A sigh escaped her lips, and from the corner of her eye Nynaeve could see the other women look at her discretely; Egwene tipped her eyes up above the top of her letter, while Sharina turned her head and gave her a scrutinised look which Nynaeve promptly ignored. The woman irritated her; that much was clear. Nynaeve wished the advisor did not have to follow all the way to Shienar. Maybe they could leave her behind at some dirty inn in a questionable little village. She allowed herself a small grin at that thought. Sharina merely turned her head and looked out the window again. Egwene turned to her letter, a twinkle in her eye. Nynaeve was sure the young Amyrlin delighted in the animosity between the two other women. She sent her a glare just in case.

Another thing Nynaeve did not like, was babysitting. Not when she was the child, and those two women her nurses. Well, Sharina was the one who sat with more responsibility, but Egwene often mothered her too. All that in fifteen days; no wonder she had been irritated most of the time. The only thing that seemed to calm her nerves were the visits to Faile and Perrin.

Faile had made sure she and her husband stayed in the same room, and had managed to move him to a separate ward of the infirmary, where the two of them could have some privacy. Perrin was still in a deep sleep which he still had not awaken from. To Nynaeve's despair and anger, the Browns had not dug forth anything useful for her from their libraries; they had received an earful from her for that "incompetence" yesterday afternoon. Egwene had been forced to confine Nynaeve to her apartments for the remainder of the night, where she had been forced to listen to Sharina's long speech of how she needed to stress down in these crucial last three months of the pregnancy.

However, her situation had not helped Perrin in the slightest, and their only option seemed to be waiting. Faile had expressed her wishes to stay in the Tower, but a letter had reached her on the day of Nynaeve's departure from the Tower that the Women's Circle and Village Council did not seem to be handling things too well. So the women had left about the same time as Nynaeve and the others. They had wished each other well, and Nynaeve had told Faile to "keep hoping" because she believed he would wake up. If not, she would force him.

Though where Perrin's situation seemed to dishearten her, there was someone else who kept her own hopes up. According to Elayne, Rand had fared better since her visit to Caemlyn, and was improving all the time. He got up from his bed in the mornings, bathed and ate, and spent the day light hours catching up with his family and friends. Min had said he still did not sleep well, but better than before. He had not spoken of the issues which had driven him into his depression, but his wives believed it would come with time. Nynaeve agreed. She had visited him two or three times since the first visit, and he looked better. While on those visits, she had focused more on finding a weave that could drive away the fog around his eyes. Last time, she had a break-through.

It was originally a weave that sent intricate patterns of Air and Water to cleanse walls and floors of difficult spots (like blood), but adding a little of Fire, Earth and Spirit made the weave push around the edges of the mysterious fog and it withdrew. It was a marginally withdrawal, but there seemed she had found a path to walk on and it gave her hope. At the time she had been too drained to maintain the weave, but she promised him that on her next visit she would do much better. However, when that next visit would be, she did not know. The whole ongoing journey had thrown her off-guard.

When Elayne had let it slip in her last letter that there was an uprising going on in the North that involved descendants of Malkier and rulers of the Borderlands, Nynaeve had been quite shocked. So shocked, she in fact forgot to unleash the deadly grip around her long braid when she went to talk to Egwene. A grim look came upon Nynaeve's face as she remembered the incident.

She had stormed from her apartments to the Amyrlin's study, past a quizzical Keeper of Chronicles and banging the doors open with streams of Air. When she arrived inside the study, she had not seen the visitor, and just gone off the hinges. She had been seething, half-screaming and demanding an answer why Egwene had kept the uprising from her knowledge, when it so certainly concerned herself. Egwene had been cool and calm, as if expecting this, and excused herself to the visitor and had then taken Nynaeve out to Beldaere's study.

Forcing Nynaeve to sit down, hitting her sore spot in claiming the stress was unhealthy for the children, Egwene had proceeded to tell her the reasoning behind her decision. When she had first met Nynaeve in _Tel'aran'rhiod_, she had seen how the months preceding the Battle had taken their toll on her, and she did not want more pressure on Nynaeve at the moment.

That was her first reason. The second was that the uprising would put her in the unwanted attention of the evil side, and seeing as she had helped rid the world of the Dark One she would be more exposed to assassins and the likes. Egwene wanted to avoid that, and Nynaeve being pregnant had only enforced her way of thinking. Though, the attack in Two Rivers had showed she was already on the Darkfriends' minds, so Egwene had planned on telling her. Unfortunately, the incident with the weed had delayed her plans, and then there had been so many otherthings to take care of, she had not gotten around to do it.

In her mind, Nynaeve knew it was logical, but at that particular moment, she had not wanted to listen to reason. She just wanted to be angry. She had arguedthat someone else could have told her, like Beldaere, for it was her right to know. At that point, Egwene had looked at her silently before asking the question which had really made her begin thinking.

_"And by what right do you claim? Your right as Nynaeve Sedai, Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah is no right. The only right you can claim is as the Queen of Malkier, or on behalf of your children. So I ask again: by what right do you claim knowledge and involvement of the uprising?"_

Nynaeve turned her head from the window and looked over at Egwene, whose brows furrowed as she read through the letter in her hands. The question had been an awakening, and after the confrontation, Nynaeve had fled out to the autumn-coloured gardens for privacy. Her mind had been in turmoil. Which right was she claiming by, really? It had just fallen naturally to say it was her right, but when she had to think about it, she did not know exactly which.

For hours, she sat in the gardens, racking her brain for answers. It all came down to one thing, actually. Was she willing to fulfil the promise she made to Lan's spirit about taking reign of renewing Malkier? Min's viewing had hinted at the country being restored to its former glory, but Nynaeve suspected it all depended on whether she would reclaim her late husband's ancient land.

The aspect was frightening. She did not know a first thing about ruling a country – that was up her friends' alley, like Elayne and Perrin. Her mind told her that neither of her fellow Emond's Fielders had known anything about such responsibility, but they were faring quite well now. Of course, they tripped over their feet now and then, but who did not? She could learn with time. But then again, the others had someone at their side, lovers or spouses, while Nynaeve had no one. Her Lan was dead. A big part of her heart had died with him.

_"But what about their children?"_ she had asked herself. The two sons she was carrying inside her womb, who she loved so much it pained her to know she was risking their lives every time she went somewhere public because of a grudge held to her by those corrupted by Darkness. They had an inborn right to their father's land, so who was she to take that justice from them? She was their mother, of course, but did that matter in this case? Perhaps she could deny them the right, and raise them in ignorance until their transition to men when they would start questioning their past. Maybe she would be able to explain her reasoning and they would understand and forgive her, or maybe the opposite would happen and they would be angry with her for not telling, like she was that day with Egwene.

All the thinking had given her a headache, and the children had been very active that night as well. It was a difficult choice, and she had almost regretted learning the truth. However, as the sun sped up its descent and gradually faded into night, she had made her choice. She would go to Fal Moran and the negotiations. She would reclaim the lands of Malkier that had been split between Shienar and Arafel after the Last Battle in her sons' names. Then she would rule until her sons were old enough to take responsibility, and she would see that the country was built up again and resuming the traditions and culture of the ancient land.

To say that Egwene had been happy was an understatement – she was overjoyed; Nynaeve learned the woman had been hoping for that decision, but had not wanted to say anything of it in fear of impacting her decision.

The Yellow smiled, stroking her stomach, watching as Egwene folded the document in her hands and put it back in the box.

"It is nearing afternoon. What do you say to some food?"

Apart from the urge for more sleep, Nynaeve had also experienced a doubled, and sometimes tripled, hunger and never said "no" to offered meals. Sharina sent a look her way before locking eyes with the Amyrlin and speaking in a dry tone.

"Make sure the strawberry-creamed tarts with salt topping are ready after she has consumed thrice as much as us." Egwene chuckled good-heartedly, but Nynaeve glared. She did not like being made fun of, even if it was in good humour. She could not help for her craving of those delicious tarts.

She opened her mouth to say something nasty when the carriage made a sudden lurch. Before the women had a chance to look outside, raised voices and _clangs_ from steel meeting steel reached their ears. Dread filled Nynaeve. Egwene was out before anyone could say 'ambush' and joined her Warder and lover, Gawyn, immediately. Nynaeve wanted to follow but was held back by Sharina.

"Let go of me," Nynaeve said angrily.

"And what good do you think you'll do except expose yourself, and your children, to certain death?" Sharina replied sharply, blue eyes darkening with a silent warning. Nynaeve tried to wriggle out of the woman's hands, but she was too strong for her and she sank back in the pillows, shifting slightly on her bum.

Nodding in approval, Sharina took hold of _saidar_ and began warding the doors of the carriage to stop intruders from coming inside. Nynaeve stared out through the window, taking in everything that was happening with a heavy heart that she could not help them.

On the dirt-trampled road, Warders and Younglings were fighting against what appeared to be bandits from their ragged looks, but she could see from their fighting techniques that they were trained soldiers. The handful of Aes Sedai that had followed from Tar Valon were defending their own rather fighting the ambushers, who seemed to be struggling against the group of soldiers. It looked as they were fighting a losing battle, Nynaeve noted with a slight hope in her heart. Her hands were lying protectively on her belly, her mind realising there was nothing she could do except stay out of danger's way.

But just as the last surviving bandits disappeared into the snow-covered trees of the nearby forest, there was a slight crackling in the air and suddenly the sky flashed as lightening bolts rammed down in the Aes Sedai ranks. A gasp escaped her lips as fire arrows roared through the air, falling over the almost helpless soldiers. She moved and wanted to get out and help, but Sharina held her arm tightly.

"They must hold their own," she said calmly, but Nynaeve thought she saw doubt in the woman's eyes.

"We must do something to help them," she argued, eyes following the graceful arc of one of the Warders as he went down, unmoving. Egwene was out of sight; Nynaeve hoped she was alright.

"We cannot do anything that will draw attention to you."

"And do you not think they know I am sitting inside this carriage like a sitting duck?" Nynaeve's eyes flashed dangerously, but it did not faze the other women in the slightest. "With the warding of those doors, we have no way to get out if they should decide to turn those arrows at—" She did not have the chance to say anything else, for her prediction had come true – arrows of fire hit the carriage with hard _thuds_. Nynaeve felt trapped between the wolf and the bear.

Sharina was quick to make a weave of Water, but it could not penetrate the wards she had put on the doors. Nynaeve wanted to curse and say something smug at the same time, but found herself unable to do either as smoke drifted in and the air tightened. She began coughing; the fire spread quickly. Outside, she could hear voices shouting again. If they were good or evil, she did not know. All she wanted was to get out.

"Get the wards down," she choked to the other woman. Sharina did not miss a wink and immediately brought the wards down. The smoke continued to fill the carriage. Her eyes began to water and she continued coughing violently. She could hardly see anything. Hands took her arm and she felt them push her towards the door on the opposite side of her.

Half-pushing, half-kicking the door, Nynaeve almost missed the step below and started to fall to the ground but was held up by her advisor and managed to climb down safely. Rubbing the water out of her eyes, she found herself standing at the edge of the forest, gazing at the battle taking place before her. The bandits had returned with reinforcements, and the few Warders and Younglings still standing were fighting adamantly with back-up help from a few Green sisters. The rest of the surviving Aes Sedai seemed to be off fighting against a hidden foe – probably the one who had sent the lightening and fireballs.

Sharina was suddenly at her side, pushing her into the forest and out of view. Nynaeve stumbled slightly but caught herself and hurried around trees and bushes, going deeper into the forest until darkness crept over them. After several minutes, they could no longer see the edge of the forest, nor could they hear sounds coming from the road. Sharina stopped and pointed to some big stones that lay at the bottom of a small hill, almost covered by the cluster of trees around them.

"We can hide there and wait it out," she said. "We should put up a ward that will warn us of enemy approaching, and perhaps an Illusion to make us blend in with the environment." Nynaeve had to admit, the woman was not stupid, and nodded quickly.

They walked over and Sharina helped her sit down before putting up the aforementioned weaves. Nynaeve leaned back against the hard, cold rock, feeling her heart beat quickly and awakening the children. She was breathing heavily after the ordeal, and forced herself to calm down. _In through the nose, out through the mouth_, she chanted in her mind.

After a few minutes she had calmed down considerably and sat quietly stroking her stomach. Cold began seeping into her bones, and she put her arms around her in search of warmth, wishing for her winter cloak that lay in the carriage. Her eyes were drifting out of focus when she suddenly felt something warm being laid around her shoulders. Looking up, Nynaeve found Sharina adjusting her own shawl around her, and it struck a cord in her. Ignoring the cold she was obviously feeling after giving her shawl to Nynaeve, the old woman sat down, eyes closed. Nynaeve sat staring at her for a long time, listening to their slow breathing.

"Thank you," she said finally, noting the mist that came out of her mouth as she spoke. It had to be really cold. An emotion she knew too well filled her. So she was irritated at the woman most of her time, but that did not make her downright cruel. She could not sit and see someone freeze to death.

Filling herself with _saidar_, cherishing the new life filling her from top till toe, Nynaeve wove Fire and Earth which she tied together around the other woman before letting go of the Power. It was a Warming weave, one of her own making. Sharina looked only slightly startled, but nodded her head gratefully. The women returned to their silence, Nynaeve listening to the soft wind curling around her nose.

It was a long time since she had been Listening to the Wind, mainly because she had paid it no heed in the last months, but now she pinned her ears back in attentive alertness. A storm was coming, though of a different quality. It seemed neither weather-based nor emotion-based, which was rather strange. This was not something she had not dealt with before, and it irked her mind. From the corner of her eye she could see Sharina follow the motions of her face, but remained silent.

For what seemed hours, the women sat in their hideout, quiet and alerted. However, Nynaeve felt impatience would tear her apart if she did not give it free reign.

"Do you think it is over?" she asked, coughing a little. Her hand lay on her stomach, caressing it softly. She did not know how long she would endure this cold before getting ill. It was not good for the children. "I do not think I can drive away the cold for long."

Sharina thought for a moment. "I will go and check it out. Perhaps it is over, which leaves us fleeing or returning, depending on who won." She stood up and was about to creep out of the hideout when they heard a horse whine nearby. She threw herself back in cover immediately, sitting in front of Nynaeve and blocking her view. But she did not take time to be irritated at that notion; she was busy identifying the closing-in rider.

The shadow was dark, and it looked like a man from the broad shoulders. He did not wear armour, nor did he wear a cloak, so this was certainly not one of the Warders or Younglings. It had to be one of the bandits. Sharina seemed to have reached the same conclusions in her head, because a silvery glow appeared around her and Nynaeve watched threads of Spirit, Earth and Air weave nicely together in what looked to be a rope. Hastily, the "rope" soared through the trees of their cover and lashed out at the unknown rider, taking him by surprise and tying it around him. The man gave a yelp as he went down, but Nynaeve was quick to take hold of the Power and stuff Air into his mouth so he could not call for help.

The women stood shoulder by shoulder for a minute, watching the man struggle and looking for other hidden enemies; they could see none. Then Sharina stepped out of the hideout, Nynaeve close behind. The older woman wanted to say something to her (probably to stay back), but Nynaeve had suddenly realised who they were dealing with and raced forward.

Streams of light poured down through the treetops, landing on the face of the still struggling bandit. With dark reddish hair and white at the temples, and arrogant blue eyes on a hard, angular face, Nynaeve quickly recognised the result of the merging of Lan's cousin and Rand's uncle, Slayer. They had met before, during the time the Little Tower laid siege on Tar Valon and Egwene had been captured. She and Lan was with Rand in Cairhien when the man had shown up and tried to kill them. However, he was quick to escape and they never caught him. Never had she believed they would be in this position.

A look of disgust settled upon her face. "You may as well stop struggling," she said coolly. He stopped, finally looking up at her for the first time. His eyes widened slightly in recognition before twinkling madly. "You will not escape this time." And with that, she laid multiple wards and bindings at him, making sure he would not escape again. She was tired of that. Sharina caught up with her as she laid the final ward, breathing evenly as if everything was in control.

"We should both head back to the carriage. I think it is over."

Nynaeve nodded, sending Slayer a look of satisfaction when she saw his eyes flash in panic. "I will—"

"You have done quite enough, Nynaeve Sedai," Sharina said sharply. "You should not even have channelled as much as you have; it will tire you needlessly. I will take him back. You concern yourself with taking one step of the time. I will not have you fainting of fatigue." The glare she sent her advisor had no effect; Sharina's face only hardened.

Grumbling below her breath, she hurried back in the direction they had come from. Behind her she could hear Slayer being put on his feet, and her mind drifted to her husband. She never understood Lan's feelings for his cousin, not knowing their history, but hoped he was happy – wherever he was – that Slayer had finally been caught, and would face justice.

Several minutes later, after trudging through dead leaves and branches and growing more tired, Nynaeve emerged from the forest and stopped immediately, scanning her surroundings with a suspicious eye. The carriage was burnt out, and the horses gone. Around it lay bodies of dead and wounded, but to her surprise, they all wore ragged clothes. She searched for Egwene and found her talking to a man in a grey, shining plate armour, his helmet under his arm.

The man was tall, broad-shouldered and dark of both eyes and hair, which was tied up in a characteristic topknot with the hair around it shaved off. His face was hard and angular, thick brows furrowed in attentiveness, and sporting a cross-shaped scar at his neck, probably after a Trolloc arrow. Two long swords were strapped to his back, much like Lan's had done when they entered the Blight for the very first time. Nynaeve wondered what a Shienaran soldier was doing so far away from the border to Shienar; they were still two days away from Fal Moran, even after having Travelled from Tar Valon to a place ten days from the Shienaran city. However, as she stood there, the man suddenly set his eyes on her. A flash of surprise (and recognition?) crossed his features before returning to its hard lines.

She did not have much time to question him, for Egwene had seen her as well and was hurrying towards her, relief in her eyes.

"How are you?" Egwene asked breathlessly. The younger woman had a gash across her forehead, and looked as if she had rolled around in the dirt. Nynaeve wanted to embrace the Power and Heal her, but found herself half-drained of any strength. Egwene picked up her tired stance and quickly led her to a wooden chest they seemed to have salvaged from the carriage where she sat down. She let out a sigh when the weight disappeared from her feet. No matter how much she hated the fact, she had gained a lot of weight and had to stay more and more off-feet.

"I am alright," Nynaeve replied, rubbing her eyes. "We managed to get out of the carriage and to a hiding spot in the forest. And you?"

Egwene brushed the wound off as nothing to worry about, and said they had taken care of the mysterious channeler, who now lay among the dead bodies. Which reminded Nynaeve of Slayer. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say who they had caught when Sharina stepped out of the forest, the man in tow. Egwene followed her view and gasped as she saw who the Kandorian was leading to a group of Younglings, telling them to take caution with him.

"That man—"

"—is Slayer, Lan's cousin and Rand's uncle," finished Nynaeve, looking grim. How she wanted a soft bed to lie in now! Instead, she was stuck in the middle of a road, two days' journey from hot baths, warm food and supple beds. "We caught him in the forest when he tried to escape." Egwene was about to say something as the man-in-question was led away by the group of surviving Younglings, but Nynaeve cut in first. "What happened here? Why are these soldiers here?" She tilted her head at the Shienaran soldier and his fellows, all in armour and mounted on their barded horses.

"They came to our rescue," Egwene answered, kneeling down before her. "We were being overrun by the Darkfriends and nearly loosing when the cavalry stormed at them, riding them over. Many of the Younglings and one Warder did not make it, but those wounded have been Healed and are off somewhere to bury their friends. I thought I would go and show my respect before continuing on our way."

Nynaeve's brow furrowed. "On our way? We have no carriage, no horses, nothing. And we're two days away from Fal Moran! How will we even get there?"

The young Amyrlin smiled sheepishly, adjusting the stole around her shoulders. "I miscalculated our location. We are just half-a-day's ride from the border. We'll be in Fal Moran at nightfall."

"What about the horses?"

"Some of them have been found, and Commander Haydar has offered his own horse and his men's. I accepted. However, I am afraid you will have to ride the rest of the way." Egwene smiled apologetically. Nynaeve sighed.

"I do not care," Nynaeve said brusquely, then softening. "All I want is a bed and no one to wake me in the morning. And that includes you two," she added jokingly as she stroked her belly.

Egwene chuckled. "I think we can arrange that."

At nightfall, the party reached the southern gate of Fal Moran. Lit lamps in the streets ricocheted off the thin layer of white snow, but Nynaeve hardly noticed. She was tired, hungry, thirsty and sorefrom sitting horseback for almost six hours straight while in her condition. They had taken pauses, of course, but neither were long and they were soon on the road again. Now, she felt like lead when lifting her hands to remove the hood she wore. Her eyes were drooping, but she tried to stay awake.

The streets were quiet as they rode through towards the King's castle. Though, the lights were still on inside the houses and taverns they passed. Halfway, they met a patrol which the Commander stopped to have a few short words with. He waved them on, but caught up with them later. Nynaeve could sense his eyes on her back, and felt uneasy. He had been quite interested in her during their short journey, but had said little and asked little. He only seemed to listen on her and Egwene's conversations. She was not used to fame, and did not know how to deal with a man who knew who she was. For a stray moment, Nynaeve wished Sharina could turn her abilities on that man, but thought better of it. She would _not_ ask that woman to do anything for her. She could manage on her own.

When Nynaeve spotted the castle, she was overjoyed. Never had something so stoic and hard looked so tempting. She blamed it on the thoughts of what it contained. They rode through the gates and to the steps leading up to big oak doors. One of the Younglings came and helped her down, blushing a little as he did so, and Nynaeve thanked him quietly before trudging through the snow and up the steps. Egwene was ahead of her, and went in first when the doors opened.

They walked through long halls, twisting around corners, following a servant wearing gold and black livery. There were little accessories in the hallways, and if there were any, Nynaeve did not notice. She was too tired.

Suddenly they were standing in a great hall, looking upon a raised chair in which sat the reigning king Easar. He was short, slight and square-faced with no wrinkles, but his white topknot and wise eyes told them he was certainly not in his youth, but an old, respected king. He followed them with his eyes as they strode forwards, Nynaeve in particular. A smile tugged slightly at his lips when he saw her, but it was gone in a blink of an eye.

The servant who had led them there rapped his staff. Nynaeve knew what would follow – a welcome ceremony of some kind_. Rap, rap, rap_. "Who comes here?" he asked formally and to no one in particular.

One of the Aes Sedai, fair hair with blue eyes to match the fringes hanging from the shawl around her slim shoulders, stepped forward from behind them, speaking up, "The Watcher of Seals." Her voice was clear and not too loud.

"Who comes here?" he asked again.

"The Flame of Tar Valon," she answered calmly.

"Who comes here?"

"The Amyrlin Seat." A shine of something Nynaeve could not put her finger on flashed in her eyes as she spoke. But she did get vibes of loyalty and honour. The king observed everything quietly in his chair.

"Why should we watch?" asked the servant stoically.

"For the hope of mankind."

"What do we guard?"

"The shadow at noon."

"How long shall we guard?"

"Always," the man ended, in a stronger voice than before. Silence ensued before the king spoke up, "Fal Moran offers bread and salt, welcome."

"Thank you, my Son," replied Egwene, stepping further into the room now that the ceremony was over, adjusting the stole on her shoulders.

"You honour us, Mother," said the king and bowed slightly. Then he turned. "And welcome to you, el'Nynaeve Mandragoran." Nynaeve locked eyes with him, not surprised that he knew who she was, but did not try to curtsy, knowing it would not go so well. Though she did bow her head a little.

"You have travelled far," he motioned to a group of servants that stood along the left wall to come forward with the warm, damp cloths they had in their hands. Nynaeve accepted it gratefully, washing away the grime and dirt from her face and hands. She could see Egwene do the same.

"Your apartments are ready. The servants will show you there."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Egwene said softly. "It has indeed been a very long day. We are most grateful for your hospitality."

The king bowed slightly. "Heart and soul to serve the Grey Tower. Go now and rest. We can talk in the morning."

* * *

The man stepped down the last steps and walked into the small room which the guards sat in. He nodded to the man on duty before continuing into a long hall of cells at both sides. There were no prisoners here, save one. The man caught by Nynaeve Sedai this morning, currently leaning against the stone wall of his cell, staring into the air. 

The man smirked as he opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. Slayer looked up at him, a sneer on his face.

"What is this? More questions? Did you not get enough earlier?" he asked arrogantly.

The man did not waste his time, doing what he came to do and then leaving the cell quickly. His Master would be pleased now that the bug was eliminated; he could have caused a lot of trouble with so many witches in the city. He nodded to the guard again and started up the stairs to ground level. A hand went up to scratch the scar on his neck.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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**_Author's Note:_**

_Phew! Finally I got it out. This chapter has of yet proved to be the hardest to write, though I suspect there will be another toughie soon... I think I had three different drafts before throwing them all in the bin and starting on a fourth one, which you have just read. It turned out to be much longer than I thought at first, as it were so many things I needed to add without turning this into two chapters. I hope you have enjoyed reading it! 16 pages in Microsoft Word and more than 9,000 words! I'm getting good at this... _

_Anyways , now that I have had my say, please let me know what you think! I love reviews, because they can tell me whether or not it is rasonable to continue. I see many people have read the previous chapters, but out of nearly 100 readers of last chapter, only 8 people took their time to review. I'm ashamed of the 93 who did not review! Do you not know that we authors live and die for reviews!_

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**Amber - **_(blushes violently and goes hiding under the bed) Thank you! It means a lot for me to hear such positive comments!_

**Taiyoukai Lady - **_I know it wasn't an accusation, so I'm sorry if you were offended by my reply. And yes, it is very annoying. _

**Aria-Wolfstar - **_Thanks! I had great fun writing that particular scene! Definitely one of my favourites:) _

**faeriepuck - **_Thanks for beta reading last chapter, and this one, and the one before last one, and the one before that, and the one... In short, thanks for being my beta reader! It sounds as if the other readers loved the chapter too._

**discordchick - **_Hehe, I have made a similar mistake before, only with my counsins. They're identical twins and there have been many times that I have to separate the two of them by the colour on their shirt, though, I still make a mistake when they suddenly decide to swap shirts... _

**Tale - **_(turns beet-red with all the praise and pops a chocolate into the mouth for calming down) As I said to Amber, it means a lot to hear so many good things from my readers. As to Rhien learning the truth, all I can say is to stay tuned. You might be surprised. And the Gwiddon (aka Lanfear) has a very clear destiny, you'll see._

**nightdweller - **_I agree, and who else to kick his butt than Nynaeve? Jordan should take some ideas from me... _

**THKSkywalker - **_Not to worry, it will all be solved in the end. If not, I'll end it in the possible-but-not-decided sequel. :) You probably saw what destiny awaited Slayer in this chapter... And about the future chapters - I know it will be around 17-18 of them. I've lined them out and know there will be no more, no less. However, if it do go further than 18, I will offer you my humble apologies._


	12. Chapter 11: Meetings

_**Disclaimers:** I don't own the WoT universe, and I don't make profit on this story, so if there are anyone out there wanting to sue me -back off!_

_**Summary:** Four months after the Last Battle, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge..._

_**Rating: **PG-13 (T)_

_**Author's Note: **It seems as if I was inspired by the small stories I wrote, and decided to finish this chapter while I was at it. Thanks to all who reviewed last chapter! And thank you to _**faeriepuck**_ who betaread this time too. __Me love you. Now, enjoy!

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN – Meetings**  
_By neela

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Sun shone through the half-closed litters, warm rays snuggling onto her bare skin as Nynaeve stretched and yawned. It had been a wonderful, dreamless night. For the first time in many weeks, she felt rested and at ease. She suspected it might have something to do with being so close to the Blight.

_So close to home_.

The room was slightly chilly, although she noticed someone must have entered not long ago, for the hearth was burning and slowly warming up the air. The stone floor was cold, and she quickly slipped into a pair of wool slippers that stood at the base of her double bed.

A long dressing gown in a dark, woollen material was draped across the bed post. It looked very much Shienaran, and though she had sworn to keep her own appearance and fashion, she could not refuse the warmth it hinted at, and put it on. Snuggling into the gown, she stood up and walked over to the hearth. On her way there, she looked out through the tall windows, spotting the grey sky and falling…snow?

She stopped and stared outside, a grin splitting her face in two. Indeed it was snowing, and it looked as if it had done so for awhile. She put her hands out to the hearth, closing her eyes and revelling in the warmth spreading through her body from her fingertips. A content smile touched her lips.

Waking up, the children greeted her with small kicks, eliciting a small chuckle from Nynaeve.

"If that is the way you are going to wake me after birth, then I will give you to Egwene until your first birthday. I do believe you have caused me enough sleepless nights to last for many years."

The children only kicked harder, Nynaeve's smile growing wider.

"You are going to be stubborn, just like your mother," she said with humour, then her smile fell a notch. "And as strong and handsome like your father."

As whenever she mentioned their father, the children ceased their kicking. Nynaeve had never thought about it before, being too grief-struck, but now she found it comforting. It was as if his spirit was here to tell them to stay still, not making it harder on their mother. She could imagine him saying those words, before chuckling slightly at her grimace and then kissing her softly, telling her how much he loved her. His blue eyes would fill with that indescribable emotion which only she could see, and his hands would run through her long, loose hair.

At first, she had played with the thought of cutting her hair, not wanting to be reminded of how much he liked it when alive. Now, she did keep it as a reminder. If he could see her from wherever he was, then he would see her love for him in the length of her hair. A symbolic gesture shared just between the two of them, and no one else would understand the silent communication.

A sad smile sat upon her face as she mused, until she shook her head and told herself to leave it. "It is time for breakfast, and I am not even dressed." She stroked the bulb under the dressing gown lovingly, wandering over to the other side of the room.

The room was large and luxurious enough for a royal couple, with even two separate dressing areas – one for the woman, the other for the man. Nynaeve had barely gaped at it when she came here last night, but she took the time now to admire the rich tapestries, intricate carpet patterns, wide four-poster bed and the whole dressing area. A long-length mirror hung beside a golden washstand, with a carved chest pushed up against the wall. In the middle of the floor and faced toward the corner, stood a tall screen of cloth bound between three poles of carved wood. She had never seen such a thing before, but she understood its use. It was meant to hide a person while she or he was changing clothes. At least for those concerned with modesty.

Eyes twinkling as she imagined what Lan would have done to it had he been there, Nynaeve slipped out of the gown and hung it on one of poles. Underneath she wore a linen nightgown, compliments of the house, as the maid had told her last night. It was short-sleeved with a small neck and held together at the front by a long row of buttons down to her knees. It looked as if it was meant for pregnant females, as there was plenty of room beneath her bosom for the stomach to grow. But at the same time, the nightgown did not make her feel as big as a bear like she normally felt.

The nightgown was buttoned-down and hung over the pole as well before she walked over to the washstand and began her daily ministrations. Less than a half-hour later, Nynaeve stood before the mirror and admired the elegant dress she had bought before leaving Tar Valon. She had saved it for this visit.

A combination of black wool and cotton made a high-necked dress with wide sleeves, hugging her chest before flowing out in a spacious skirt below her breasts. Silver bands lined the sleeves, neck, over and below her bosom and the bottom of her skirt along with a simple pattern of small birds. Or more correctly, small cranes, in honour of Malkier and Lan. It was a comfortable dress, giving her a lot of space to walk and grow in, and it was in style with Borderlands customs: a widow wore black.

Nodding in approval, she moved to the dressing table and picked up a small box of white paint. Dipping her little finger in the substance, she raised it up to her forehead and painted a small white dot right above the ridge of her nose. This was the Malkieri custom. White for widow.

She smiled sadly at the image reflecting from the mirror, recalling how Lan had said she was asking for a widow's garb in bride's gift and how she denied it. But then she stiffened. Her mourning was in the past now, she had done her crying, and now she needed to live on. Besides, he had left behind a legacy which she treasured above anything else she owned for each day that passed. And there was also a reason for her visit to Shienar. It was in Fal Moran the negotiations would take place. The leaders of the uprising were expected to arrive in seven days, and the meeting to commence the following day.

Five minutes later found her outside the door to the king's private dining room, mustering the courage to walk inside. Last time she had met king Easar had been together with Lan, and the king had been very kind to her. Now he would see her in a widow's garb for the first time, and she was not sure if she wanted it sympathy. Understanding, yes, for he had lost his wife thirteen years ago, but not pity. Telling herself she was being silly, she knocked on the door and entered when a servant opened it.

The room was large, but not overly so, with a soft feel to it in spite of the grey, boring stone walls. Paintings in warm colours hung on the walls, separated by lit chandeliers which spread a warm glow around the room. A hearth on either side of the room gave warmth to her chilled bones after the cold corridors. In the middle of the room stood a long dining table with room for nearly two dozen people, with carved, high-backed chairs and cushioned seats.

At the end of the table sat the king, with Egwene at his left, wearing the stole around her shoulders. Egwene was speaking lowly to Easar, who was nodding every now and then. When she entered, they both looked up and stopped speaking immediately. If they were surprised at her dress, they did not show it, although they remained silent until she said her greetings. Only then did they snap out of their quietness and the king rose and walked over to her, taking her arm and leading her to the chair on his right.

"Peace favour you this frosty morning, Lady Nynaeve," he spoke warmly. "I trust you slept well?" He drew out her chair for her and she thanked him as she sat down and he pushed it back.

"Yes, very well, thank you," she replied, nodding to Egwene across the table. "The bed was very soft and comfortable. Not like the one in my apartments in the Tower." She winked at Egwene's mock glare. "Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, Your Majesty," she said as he sat down and signed for a servant to come with food to her.

"It is an honour to have you here, Lady Nynaeve," he inclined his head to her. "The doors to Fal Moran are always open to the coming Queen of Malkier."

"You are too kind, Your Majesty." She was saved the embarrassment of hiding her blush when one of the servants came with a large tray and set it in front of her. There were fruits, berries, slices of bread, butter, some meat, and to her pure enjoyment, a few strawberry-creamed tarts standing next to a saltcellar. She could feel her mouth watering, but decided with sheer force of will to wait with those until after breakfast.

Nynaeve had heard many women talking about the different and absurd food cravings they experienced while pregnant, and often she had snorted at their weird tastes, but now even the idea of snorting did not enter her mind. This was normal, her brain said to her. Eating strawberry-creamed tarts with lots of salt on top was perfectly normal, and if someone dared to laugh at her, she would box their ears. With humour, she thought it should have been a saying about pregnant women – never come between a pregnant woman and her food.

Egwene and king Easar resumed their conversation as she began to eat. It did not surprise her that it concerned the negotiations, for it was also on her mind. But she did not feel like joining the conversation right now. She was too busy stuffing food into her mouth with as much dignity she could muster in her situation.

"So you said Kaijin and his group will arrive today, not in seven days?" Egwene asked. Her hands lay folded on the table, a calm expression on her face. She was dressed in a blue and yellow woollen dress, probably due to the sudden cold, with a lot of embroidery and golden bonds along the folds.

The king nodded, sitting royally in his chair with one hand on the table and one resting on the armrest. "It is earlier than what was agreed. I suspect he want to verify if milady has arrived or not."

"And that all this is not a trap," finished Egwene. "It sounds reasonable enough. Would not we have done the same if our roles were switched? I do not think we need to cause trouble over this new turn of event. Even if it was a surprising turn, I think it only logical."

"I have no objections, Mother"

Nynaeve, who had been listening to the conversation, suddenly shot in: "Was Kajin not one of those who followed to Falme, Mother? A tall, lanky fellow with a lean and sallow posture, and hair as black as the night?"

Egwene looked lost in thought for a moment, then nodded. "I do believe it is the same man."

"He joined Gareth Bryne's army in Salidar together with Uno, did he not?" Nynaeve continued, racking her memory for images. "Yes, he did," she answered her own question with a mutter. "Then it is no coincidence that they sent him first. He knows who I am by appearance."

The king sank back in his chair, looking grave. "We are in agreement then, to not act on his early arrival."

"It will suffice to be precautious, Your Majesty," the young Amyrlin Seat said and adjusted her stole which nearly fell off her shoulder. "With the event last night, we have an excuse to be extra cautious."

Nynaeve's brow furrowed. "What happened last night, if I may ask?" She took a gulp of the warm spiced wine. The look shared between the two other did not go unnoticed by her, and she set the goblet down with an enquiring gaze.

"I have grave news, milady," said Egwene seriously, using her appropriate title. Despite wanting to comment on it, Nynaeve's ears were perked. "Slayer was found dead in his cell this morning, mutilated."

Silence ensued. Then,

"What!" Her eyes blazed. She had forgotten all about dignity and self-control, and was half-way out of her chair with surprising ease. She felt the need to lash out at something, anything. _For the love of Light!_ Just when he had finally been captured and secured, someone had to come and kill him. Anger consumed her, and she would have acted on it had not Egwene shielded her from the Power.

Eyes widening, she studied the look sent her way. The younger woman, surrounded by a soft glow, was reminding her to calm down. In her mind, Nynaeve knew this, and breathed slowly until she felt ready to sit down and look up at the king.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not mean to lose my temper."

"There is nothing to forgive, milady," king Easar replied easily, smiling at her, calming her nerves. "I understand your feelings. There was a time I would have done the same." Nynaeve was grateful for the servant coming to fill her goblet of wine. It gave her some precious moments to calm down. She took a sip.

"Who killed him?" she asked, putting on a mask of calm determination.

Egwene looked uncertain for a brief second. "The guards were as clueless as we are, but I suspect it was no one from our side. Even with the Dark One gone, the Darkfriends still remain in every corner of the World. They are scattered, yes, but late reports from my eyes-and-ears have made me believe there is someone pulling the strings."

Nynaeve felt suddenly cold. "Not another Lord?"

"No, he or she does not have that much power." She paused. "All of the Forsaken's fates are accounted for except one, the Gwiddon's. But we know she is fully operational. However, I do not think it is her. Do you remember the rumour of how Moghedien was connected to someone through some sort of soul binding?"

"Yes, and as I remember, you suspected Cyndane to share her fate."

"Exactly," Egwene pointed out. "And their master's identity was never revealed, but it sounded like someone high up in the ranks. Seeing as all Forsaken except Cyndane are dead, and Cyndane is still alive, we will have to assume this master is not one of them and also alive."

"And if he is the master of Cyndane, he is probably the master of the Darkfriends too," Nynaeve finished, feeling a little proud of her reasoning. Egwene smiled at her and nodded.

"I have already contacted Beldaere Sedai to start the investigations from the Tower, although I will be sure to keep an eye on things here. I doubt the person who killed Slayer is an outlander. How would he have entered Slayer's cell if he was?"

The king spoke up for the first time in some time. "Are you suggesting a Shienaran have done this?" There was no accusation in his voice, only a grave enquiring.

"I say it is possible and most likely a local have done this, Your Majesty, and I believe this person is still in Fal Moran."

"Peace," he said gruffly, clenching his fist. "Bad enough to have the risk of an uprising right here in the city than having the danger of a Darkfriend among my people on top of that." Nynaeve felt the same, and was lost in her own thoughts when Egwene spoke up again.

"I also believe it must have been a soldier."

* * *

Commander Haydar nodded in greeting to the commoners passing him. He was well-known by reputation in the city, a fact he used greatly to get around. No fees from the tavern girls at least. He smiled wryly at that, knuckling his fist to his forehead at two soldiers going their regular round.

There seemed to be more happening in the streets today; people were coming out of their houses, more than usual, and bustling around doing Light knows what. That was what negotiations tended to do; turning the city upside-down, and not only in good ways. If he had gotten it his way, the negotiations would never have happened. The uprising was rotten food in his mind.

Adjusting the short sword at his side, Haydar grimaced, turning a corner and walking down a street leading to the Northern Gate. The king had sent him here with haste, and he had no idea why. All king Easar Togita wanted to say was that a group of six persons were coming that way, and he was to lead them straight to the castle, but along less-travelled roads. It was obvious to Haydar that this was a group of important people, and probably someone that would stick out in a crowd, something the king wished to avoid.

Ignoring the snow falling down on him, he trudged down the snow-covered street and arrived at the Gate where a flock of soldiers stood huddled together in a group. However, as soon as they spotted him, they split apart and knuckled their foreheads in greetings. Haydar found the soldier-in-charge and asked for his report.

"All is silent and unmoving, Commander. There is no one in sight for at least three miles."

"Good," Haydar said absently and went over to the ladder leading up to the outer wall battlements. A pair of archers stood there, one man staring intently on the horizon, scrutinizing every movement be it animal or a rustle of trees. The Commander fingered the ring on his hand, given to him by a lady of the night. His mind was drifting back to last night, when he had followed the Amyrlin Seat and her group to the king. One of the women had stood out clearly, and he had no trouble figuring out who she was.

With the white _ki'sain_ on her forehead and her rather large belly, el'Nynaeve Mandragoran was easily recognised. She was something of both a rumour and a legend in the Borderlands. She was famous not only for the part she played in the Dark One's demise, but for the marriage to the legendary uncrowned king of Malkier, who had been raised here in Shienar and trained in the deadly arts of the sword. Haydar had been a little surprised by her presence in the Amyrlin's group, but not by her destination. The negotiations were, after all, concerning a country she had married into. It would only be natural for her to be there. It was possible she would take the throne if the leaders of the uprising got what they wanted.

Which brought Haydar back to the question of what he was really doing here at the Northern Gate and who it was he was expecting. The negotiations were not to take place for eight days, and the leaders with their groups were going to arrive the day prior. If it was one thing Haydar liked the least, then it was to be kept out of the loop, especially as the king had always been so open towards him. But during the last month, he had gotten the impression that the king did not trust him enough. The only thing which had assured him the king was still positive against him was the assignment of meeting the Amyrlin Seat and her group, and now, maybe this assignment. If he only knew who was coming…

The hours had dragged by to nearly sundown when the man scouting the landscape raised his voice, "Commander! Riders on the horizon!"

Quickly, Haydar dropped the decks of cards he was playing with two other soldiers and was at the man's side, spotting the riders almost immediately, but they were too far away for him to recognise the banner flashing above them.

"Archers on the battlements!" he cried, though low enough to not raise attention from the nearby houses. He had told the soldiers that discretion was the key. "You two," he said to his fellow card players, "Be ready to seal the Gate." The men nodded curtly. Haydar turned his head to see if he could see the banner more clearly. The king had said a white rabbit on a blue background. It was certainly something blue on that banner, but they were still far away… Then his eyes widened, and he turned to the soldiers on the ground.

"Open the Gate."

Five minutes later, six riders, both male and female, entered the Gate and stopped in front of Haydar. The man in front was obviously the leader – tall and dark with a sallow posture. He had two swords strapped onto his back, and a mean glint in his eyes. However, he showed no motion to start a commotion, and instead knuckled his forehead to him.

"Peace favour your sword, Commander," the man said gruffly. His companions stayed behind him, silent and observing.

"And yours," Haydar replied easily, though he was very suspicious. He was wondering if this was a group from the Malkier, and why, if they were, they were seven days' early. "Follow me." And he climbed a mount nearby and turned down a lesser-used back alley, followed by the six riders and three of the soldiers. The king had wanted him to take them to him directly, so he would. He needed the king's good graces after last night.

Neither men nor women spoke as they trotted along small paths and back alleys all the way up to the castle. Haydar stayed alert and conscious of the mysterious arrivals, half-expecting to be shot in the back by an arrow at any time. But no such thing happened, and they soon arrived in the back yard of the castle. He motioned for them to climb down and follow him through a secret door and up a winding staircase until they came to the main hallway through a door in the wall.

Haydar was sure of his suspicions at this moment. The group was indeed a commission from the uprising's leaders, probably here to test if the negotiations were all a trap and if the lady Mandragoran had arrived or not. He led them down the hallway and stopped before the big doors to the great hall. He motioned for the servant standing by the door to announce their arrival.

The doors opened, the servant announced their arrival and Haydar stayed in the back as the man and his group stepped forward. The king was sitting on his throne chair, with the Amyrlin Seat on one side and the lady Mandragoran on the other. Both women were watching the group impassively, although Haydar was sure he saw nervousness in the lady's body. She was wearing a black dress and the white _ki'sain_ on her forehead, and her eyes twinkled in recognition as they passed the leader.

The king gestured to Haydar that his service was over, and he was free to go. A smile told him the king was grateful for what he had done. Haydar left quietly, closing the doors behind him as the king began the formal greeting.

* * *

Nynaeve sat in the comfortable cushioned chair before the fire in her apartments, aching feet (from walking with thirty pounds on her stomach all day) put up on a footstool and a blanket across her body. She was reading a book concerning etiquette and court manners. The wheels in her brain were working hard to uphold the remembrance of what the book was saying as she read, knowing all this information was essential for her appearance at the negotiations taking place tomorrow.

The last groups had finally arrived, all consisting of six persons and coming from different parts of the Borderlands. Some came as far as from Saldaea and others as close as from Fal Dara. Kajin and his group, however, had come all the way from the scattered ruins of the Seven Towers, where the first settlements were. Being directly involved or indirectly in the uprising, the groups had all one thing in common – they wanted Malkier restored. As Kajin had said when he arrived here seven days ago, they had the flourishing country, they had begun the forming of a society and they had a possible ruler. All they needed was her claim, and the rest would be easy.

From what she knew about the uprising, it had all begun a few weeks after the Last Battle. There had been many who witnessed her and Lan's ancient outfits, and had believed, if the two of them survived, that Malkier would be renewed again. However, when Lan died and Nynaeve disappeared without a trace, they had all thought it had been too good to be true. The rumours died down until someone had spotted her in Saldaea a month later. And when they later learned she was with child, they started a rumour of Malkier rising from ashes, hoping it would come to her attention and she would come with a claim.

The rumours spread, evolved and soon people believed she was really going to make a claim, and they began moving out of their countries and made for the broken Seven Towers. Here they started the building of a village, with mills, farms, blacksmiths, woodcutter's huts and all the other things essential for a society. One village turned into two, and three, and soon there were many small villages being built around the Towers and lakes.

But this had consequences for the countries these people came from, because they lost valuable industry and income, and the rulers objected to the immigration. They tried to hold the people back, something which resulted in the people grabbing to arms and starting the uprising. There had been many feuds in the past five months, and people had died. The leaders of the uprising had also learned she had been found, and was going to send a delegation to her, but the rulers had closed the borders and set a death warrant on their head. They had said that unless she made a claim in front of them, the people would stay in their countries. However, if she did make a claim, they would be free to go. So the leaders of the uprising had then called for negotiations, fearing for the destruction of their newfound society, and they had contacted the Amyrlin Seat for her help.

And the rest she knew by herself. She had learned the truth from Elayne, taken a decision and come here to oversee the negotiations. The only problem now was that even though she knew what she wanted, Nynaeve was experiencing cold feet. It just seemed so much more frightening now that she was in the middle of the situation than when she had sat in the Tower's gardens and come to a decision. So she was actually back to square one, whether or not she was going to come with the claim.

Sharina's knitting pins drew Nynaeve out of her thoughts. The book on etiquette lay forgotten on her stomach while she massaged her temples. This whole business was giving her a headache, not to mention she was going crazy with hormones. She looked over at her advisor, seeing how far she had gotten on a pair of small booties.

It had greatly surprised her when the elder woman had announced she was going to knit baby clothes for the babies, and warmed her. In the last week, they had gotten past their tempers and started on a friendship of sorts. The grandmotherly Aes Sedai had offered to help her one day she was troubled by the proper introduction of other nobles and rulers in Kandor, and she had grudgingly accepted, only to be pleasantly surprised that the woman was an excellent teacher. In no time at all, she was efficient and dignified as she correctly introduced Sharina to Egwene time and again.

And from there they had gone through the dinner etiquette at a Saldaean noble's table, welcoming ceremony in Arafel and different topics of discussion at the royal court. In the end, Nynaeve had told herself to be nicer to this woman she was probably going to see every day for the rest of her life. And she would, if the headache had not been so Light-blinded awful!

"You stress too much," Sharina commented, not looking up from her knitting. Nynaeve didn't bother to send her a glare, instead settling on looking darkly at the fire. At that moment, the door knocked and a maid entered, announcing the Amyrlin Seat's coming. She gestured for the maid to send her in, and squirmed in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position.

Egwene entered with her typical flourish and sat down in a chair beside Nynaeve brought by the maid. She thanked the maid and the young woman exited. She turned to Nynaeve.

"Still having a headache?" Nynaeve chose not to reply, knowing she would come with something scathing to say about how obvious it was. Egwene spotted the book she was reading and chuckled. "You know, I can help you with that."

"I appreciate your offer, but right now I cannot touch the book, or it will end up in the fire."

Egwene grinned and put her feet up on her own footstool. The women were silent, only the crackle from the fire and Sharina's knitting pins breaking through the silence. Nynaeve sensed her headache was diminishing, and sighed in relief. It was turning out to become a daily ritual, the headache and her massages. At least she was not in the range of a channeler with dark intentions – Egwene's Aes Sedai had checked the city and was certain there were no other channelers here beside themselves.

"How do you feel about the negotiations, Egwene?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"I do believe you have nothing to worry about, milady," the Amyrlin answered smugly. Nynaeve opened her eyes only to send her a glare. "Actually, I believe a Foretelling was made about this uprising."

"What?" Nynaeve turned her head abruptly, the head ache returning in that flash and she groaned, sinking back in the chair. Sharina stopped her knitting and went to retrieve a glass of water. A wave of gratefulness washed over her when the woman handed her the glass, and she gulped down the clear water. Slowly, she felt her nerves calm again. Once calm, she asked Egwene who had made it.

"It came from a Novice doing chores down in the kitchens back in the Tower. She was rather new to the Power, and was very frightened, but Beldaere calmed her down."

Nynaeve chuckled. "I would imagine he did." She left her meaning unsaid but understood. Egwene's eyes twinkled. "But when did this happen? And what did it say?"

"I'd say about less than two months ago," the Amyrlin replied. "And it said something along the lines: _The chain is broken. The Crane can fly again._"

The breath caught in Nynaeve's throat. She had not expected the crane to be mentioned. She was being a little silly, she knew, reacting like that to a bird embroidered on her dress when she had left the mourning in the past. Letting out the air, she turned to Egwene. "Well, that as well as confirm the Foretelling concerns the uprising, and it even makes it sound like there is a positive outcome."

"I agree. So I think you will see it goes better than you think, Nynaeve. You will be Queen within the week."

Somehow, that did nothing to quell Nynaeve's uneasiness.

* * *

She wanted to scream in annoyance, "The stupid, wool-headed fools!" and then rip her braid off.

Nynaeve was standing on top of the battlements of the castle, staring out over the city which was buzzing with life in spite of the early snow. It had stopped only an hour ago, and feeling the need to escape the heated discussions down in the great hall, she had dressed in her warmest coat and come here to clear her mind.

The negotiations were going on the second day since the rest of the groups arrived three days ago. At first, she had made an appearance during the first few hours of the first day, but the back ache and head ache she was experiencing was not helped by the gradually growing arguments. But it had been difficult to find a moment to make her exit; the ambassadors was continually referring to her and asking for her advice, before being disrupted mid-sentence by the other side and hence arguments commenced. Sharina had in the end come to her rescue, claiming her mistress needed rest since it was not long until birth. Many of the men and women gathered there had children of their own, so they understood, and those who did not have any was soon silenced by those who had.

So she had escaped the first day, but today had been ten times worse. The ambassadors were like a flock of chickens, constant squabbling and nipping at each other with words instead of knife; although there had been a situation when one of the ambassadors had flashed a knife at his counterpart. But he had been quickly taken care of, and Egwene had said in her most authorative voice that any weapons were to be put on the tables by the door, and if there were any objections, the objectors would find themselves back in their quarters and would not take part in the negotiations again. That had silenced them, and every dagger, dart and stone had been laid on the tables.

If Egwene and king Easar had not been there, Nynaeve was positive she would have either died of the pressure, or given all of the ambassadors a thorough spanking for worsening her head ache. She had felt her patience growing thinner, and if Sharina had not given her valuable excuses for leaving, she would have most certainly lashed out. Why could they not discuss all this like the reasonable adults they were? It should have been possible, had it not been such contrasts between the stuck-up nobles sent from the Borderland rulers and the common countrymen who represented Malkier. Many had problems with discussing this problem like equals, and it drove her mad.

Apart from the bickering between them, Nynaeve was also nagged by the fact they talked about her in third person and as if she did not sit just five feet away from them. It buggered her, but she was too emotionally unstable to speak up. That was why she let Egwene do the speaking on her behalf. Though she wished to speak for herself, and she knew that Egwene would be all too happy to give her that chance, but she was afraid of saying something wrong. What if she did and they lost all respect for her?

Egwene had told her she was silly. She was the wife of al'Lan Mandragoran, and the mother of his children, and that put her in very high regard in all the ambassadors' views. She could not say anything wrong, and if she did, she was always quick enough to change it. Nynaeve knew this deep in her heart, but still she was afraid. The ambassadors from the uprising's leaders were always trying to get her to claim the lands her children had a right to, and the Borderland's ambassadors were always trying to undermine her, which resulted in the constant arguing and Nynaeve's constant head ache.

In her thoughts and dreams, she had known exactly what she wanted to say when she laid her claim, but when she stood before all those people, taking a decision that would have a consequence for thousands was too frightening for her. The words she wanted to utter were stuck in her throat while in that room, but now, standing on the battlements, she would have no problem screaming it out on the wind. Not many would hear her words.

Nynaeve sighed; her hands reached up to massage her temple.

"Oh Lan, you should have been here now. You would know what to do, and you would have the strength to do it." Her eyes burned, but she ignored it, muttering in the cold wind. "I am too weak for a Queen. Two Rivers' folk I can handle, but not these pig-headed fools. And if I cannot handle them, how will I then handle a whole country?"

A snowflake landed on her nose and melted. It ran down her cheek as if it was a tear and she brushed it away. The cold was creeping into her bones, but she did not care. Right now she wanted nothing else but Lan's embrace and soft words that everything would be alright. She could suddenly recall something she had heard him say more times than one.

"_Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain."_

Not that she cared about the first part, but the last part certainly expressed her feelings in an appropriate way. She leant on the battlement, staring down at the small dots below that were people. So carefree, so unknowing, they just lived their life unconcerned about the decisions of power. Unless in concerned them directly, of course. But not these people. They were Shienaran. It was those with Malkieri blood coursing through their veins that relied on her decision now. But maybe even some of those Shienaran shared their fate? Perhaps some had a grandmother from the Seven Towers, or perhaps a great-grandfather?

"Who am I to decide over them?" she muttered dejectedly, closing her eyes. Her children were just as restless as her, and were kicking softly against the walls of her stomach. She did not try and calm them down, just standing there with her eyes closed and listening to the soft wind from the north. There was a small storm brewing in the mountains of Malkier now. The snow would fall heavily down on the newly erected buildings in the small villages among the Thousand Lakes. Merciless, it would tear at the corners; threaten to tear it down by sheer force of the wind. But the people were strong, sturdy – like Emond's Fielders.

Her eyes flashed open, realisation growing in her. For a moment, she stood there in the wind, sensing the snow starting to fall again before turning and walking determinedly down the stairs to the long hallway leading inside the castle again. She was the rightful Queen of Malkier, and Light damn her if she was going to let _her_ people succumb to the storm.

Servants stared at her where she walked quickly down the grand staircase, ignoring the ache in her feet and down the hallways until she reached the door to the great hall. Disposing herself of the cloak to a servant streaking by and checking her hair to find it in good shape, she took a deep breath and motioned to the guards to open the doors. The room went silent when they spotted her.

The great hall was big, and would have looked rather dull had it not been for the many fiery hearths and colourful decorations. Below the raised throne stood a long table with five chairs on either side in which the ambassadors sat. One side was for the leaders of the many groups coming on behalf of the uprising, and the other side was for the ambassadors from the Borderlands. Even Shienar was represented, although the man chosen did not say much. After all, king Easar was in agreement of Nynaeve's wishes.

With new-learned grace and dignity, she walked towards her seat and sat down without as much as a glance in Egwene's direction. The ambassadors had risen when she entered, and were now standing uneasily on their feet. She had told them she was going for a rest, but now she was unexpectedly back. Something had caused this, and the ambassadors were uncertain of what.

Nynaeve motioned with her hand that they could sit down. The moment dragged on, all waiting for her to speak. She looked determinedly at each of the faces of the Borderlands' ambassadors.

"You are all questioning at my sudden return," she said matter-of-factly. A few nodded. With an easy smile, she continued, "It was just a small head ache, and I am feeling much better now." In the corner of her eye, she could see Egwene smile encouraging to her. It did not surprise her that the young Amyrlin knew exactly what was on her mind. She sat straighter in her chair.

"In fact, I have come here on behalf of my children." The air grew thicker with anticipation. "In their names and the Light willing, I hereby lay a claim on the lands of ancient Malkier – Peace favour her memory, and Light illumine her name – which was split between her neighbouring lands at the destruction of the Dark Lord. It is as the wife of al'Lan Mandragoran, Lord of the Seven Towers, Lord of the Lakes and Diademed Battle Lord of Malkier that I have this right."

Neither the Amyrlin Seat nor the king of Shienar shushed down the cries of joy that erupted from the uprising's side of the table. The other side was watching them dejectedly for a moment before the sat straighter like the nobles they were and put on masks of indifference.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED

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_**Author's Note:** Not as long as I wanted it to be, but it's sufficient. I have done some brain-storming, and it seems as if we're looking at 16-17 chapters, not 17-18. I apologise to _**THKSkywalker**_ for my insisting on 18 chapters, you were right. Now, I do not have much to say, except take a few minutes a leave a review! My muse got very productive when I received a total of 10 reviews of last chapter!

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**Lan's Mashiara - **_Is this soon enough for you? _

**Tale - **_Am I? I feel honoured! And I am not planning to stop, unless I am in heaven, of course. I do not think they have computers there..._

**nightdweller - **_I am giving an opening to it, but I will have to see if I want to jump into another large sequel and make a trilogy. It's my last year at senior high, so I might have to make homework my top priority. _

**Aria-Wolfstar -**_ I am online!_ _It just seems as if you're never on... I'll see if I can get online more often then..._


	13. Chapter 12: Resurrection

_**Disclaimers: **I do not own the Wheel of Time Series. I am just borrowing._

**_Author's Note:_ **_Warning: long chapter follows the thoughts and musings of the author. A speedy update, this is so unlike me! Well, I found school quite boring, so I used my time to write fan fiction instead of the deadlined Biology and History essays._

_Anyways, I have something new to tell you about: response to reviews. I found that my responds to reviews take up place at the end of the chapter, also making some believe the chapter is longer than it is. Okay, that is probably rubbish, but it is partly true. Nevertheless, I have decided for something new for the responses. I have acquired LiveJournal, and I will be using it to answer every review I get in the future. So follow the link on my author page, and it will take you there. I am very hasty in replying, so no need to worry there._

_Oh, and I must not forget... (gestures to the orchestra to start playing) Thank you to _**Lan's Mashiara**_ for being the 100th reviewer for this story! If I had an address, I'd send you a real Norwegian Milk Chocolate! (music stops)_

_With that said, on to the chapter, and please make a review!_

_WARNING: This chapter is not beta-read. Be aware that corrections may come at a later date._

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I Will Find You

**CHAPTER TWELVE – Resurrection**  
_By neela

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"I will be happy once these babes are out," Nynaeve said grumpily as she shifted in her seat as the carriage bumped along the road, dodging as best as it could the many holes covered by a foot-length of snow. Egwene fought to keep the grin off her face, quickly turning to look out the window towards the north.

"Come now, milady," said Sharina calmly, eyes on her knitting. Her new project was a woollen set of trousers and a sweater for each of the babes, and each in a different colour. "You will regret those words once the children are grown up and leaving the nest to explore the world on their own."

"But that is not before a long time," she answered sourly, refusing to let the woman know she had hit close to home.

"Ah, perhaps you will regret it even earlier. Perhaps when they have ripped apart the evening gown you were supposed to wear at the annual ball which all the rulers had accepted to come to, and the gown was ordered from the other side of the Aiel waste so it would be impossible to get hold of another. Or when you are sitting in a quite boring conversation with some noble from Arafel and can use the excuse of experiencing tiredness or back aches, and can retreat to your apartments and do whatever you would like to do. Like you did back in Fal Dara."

Nynaeve had the modesty to blush. Glaring daggers at the other woman would not do, especially as Sharina set that particular disapproving look at her. She clutched her overly-large stomach, hidden beneath many layers of woollen blankets. The trip from Fal Moran to a small village near the border of Malkier, where they would stop for a hot meal and fire, was a cold journey, and bumpy.

"Have you thought of names for the babes yet?" Egwene asked suddenly, leaving Nynaeve befuddled for a moment before answering.

"Not quite."

Her friend looked at her with a raised brow. "And what does that mean?"

"It means," Nynaeve said, "that I have both thought and not thought about it." She paused. "I have one name that I want, but I will not reveal it yet," she added with a pointed look at Egwene. The woman smiled innocently.

"As long as you have thought about it. It is after all a little more than a month until birth."

Nynaeve sighed, clapping her hand again at the large bulb. "That it is." And then she fell silent…until another bump sent her up from her seat in a split second before landing hard on the cushions. A stream of colourful language escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

"You are going to be Queen, Lady Nynaeve," Sharina said reproachfully. "Perhaps you should start acting like one." This time, Nynaeve **did** glare daggers at her advisor. She was about to say the woman could stuff her advices in the Pit of Doom for all she cared when the carriage suddenly stopped.

From outside, they heard shuffling and horse whines and men dismounting. She looked out the window to see a servant stepping up to the carriage door.

"We have arrived at the village, milady."

Nynaeve thanked him and let him help her down the steps until her feet connected with a thick, white blanket. She was suddenly happy that she had decided to wear her soft, leather boots. Those snobby shoes she had to wear at the court in Shienar were absolutely horrible, and not at all good for her swollen ankles. She looked around, studying the small village.

They had stopped in what appeared to be the main street, and small high-steeped houses lined the street with small lamps outside that would be lit at night. It had stopped snowing, and she could see small windows with different items at display, such as meat, bread, weapons and the like. There was even a small herb shop not far away. But the herb shop, along with other shops, were closed. It was around dinner time, and the aroma of sweet food floated through her nostrils.

Her mouth watered, and it only took a glance sent Egwene's way for the Amyrlin to declare they would stop by the tavern and have some food before continuing. Hungrily, she waddled across the street and in through the door with a sign hanging overhead, claiming the place as "_The Lost Pony_". She wondered whatever had made the innkeeper call his tavern by such a name, but quickly discarded the thought as she stepped into the warmth.

The innkeeper, a tall, grey-haired man who looked wise beyond his years and hardened by hardships, greeted her as she removed her thick cloak and revealed her nearly eight month pregnant form.

"Welcome to _the Last Pony_, Mistress…?"

"Mandragoran," Nynaeve replied without thinking, not noticing the surprised look upon the man's face as she sat down. Oh, she wanted a nice chicken leg right now, or crusted beef with a nice sauce of honey and spiced wine.

Egwene entered quietly with Sharina and took off her cloak before sitting down beside her together with the older woman. The innkeeper gaped when he saw the stole around her shoulders and the ageless faces around the table. He was not used to having such fine visitors to his tavern. He began to stutter on his feet.

"Mother," he said quickly, stumbling across her rightful title as if he had never used it before, "Perhaps you will want to dine in a private room?"

Egwene eyed the otherwise empty room, before speaking, "No, thank you, Son. We will be quite comfortable right here." The man bowed quickly before disappearing into the kitchen.

A few seconds later a pair of tavern girls exited and came to the table to take their orders. Sharina was quick to order Nynaeve something healthy to drink – milk; she always claimed that the spiced wine was bad for the children. But she made sure there was enough to eat. They still had a few miles to go before they arrived in the first of four settlements they were going to visit.

Malkier was as good as restored, but it would not be official until she had had her coronation, which had a date not been officially set for. Sharina had spoken of early births as often occurrences in a twin pregnancy and the two of them had agreed to postpone the coronation until a month afterwards. Perhaps even in the spring, before Mat and Tuon's bonding feast.

The newlyweds were to depart the following week across the Aryth Ocean to Seanchan, where they would meet the Queen. And, according to Elayne who had it from her own sources, make Mat a General. Well, he deserved it. Hopefully the rank would make him forget how he sacrificed his eye not a month before the Last Battle, and nearly died of it. It had haunted him.

But what made Nynaeve curious was that they had been very vague about their return. She could only guess they were going to stay in Seanchan for quite some while, and that Mat had been too nervous to say so. It would be typical of him.

The arrival of hot food drew her out of her thoughts, and the women enjoyed their meal in a comfortable silence. Halfway through their meal, Egwene and Sharina looked on as Nynaeve began on her second serving, much to the enjoyment of the innkeeper. He stood behind the counter where he served beer, leaning against the wall and watching them as if they were going to vanish in thin air any minute. She sent him a few smiles now and then, keeping in mind that this could possibly be one of her future countrymen.

When they finished, Nynaeve patted her stomach contently and wiped her mouth in a very unlady-like way. This time it was in fact Egwene who sent her a scrutinising look which she ignored. The innkeeper came with warm, wet cloths to wipe their hands and faces, and wished them a pleasant and safe journey further.

"May the Light illumine your name, Mother," he said easily and bowed so that his topknot fell forth across his shoulder. He then turned to Nynaeve, "And peace favour you and your children, milady. Good health." He sent her a small smile, almost reminding her of someone.

Suddenly something fluttered in her mind, leaving her gasping out loud before striding through the door as quick as she could, cloak flying around her. She needed to get out, breathe fresh, cool air, and think… The other women were speaking to her, but she did not care as she quickly escaped down an alley, throwing up a ward to make her invisible and leant against the wall of a nearby house, breathing heavily. No one followed her. Her hand closed around the slight lump in her bossom, feeling the hardness of gold beneath her fingertips.

The flutter had only lasted a moment, but it had been enough to bring chaos in her mind; it was all a mumble jumble of emotions, aches and thoughts. Her eyes were burning; for a small second, she had felt the empty space left behind in her mind flutter, and hope had surged through her, but now it was nothing, only a greater emptiness than before.

She could not stop the tears, and let them flow freely down as snow began to fall again. Soon the street and she were covered in a fresh, cold blanket. She had not bothered to draw her hood up, and instead had let her thick braid soak up the wetness. The tears had dried on her face, almost frozen, and she felt very cold.

Taking a deep breath, she let go of the ward and began to walk back to the carriage. Half-way there, she met Egwene, who looked at her in obvious concern.

"What happened?" she asked, taking inNynaeve's bedraggled state, the tear stains, and the tight grip of something within her dress. She linked their arms and Nynaeve lent on her for support. It was draining to walk, not to mention what strength crying took from her. Her hand remained clutching the golden ring throughher cloak.

"I felt _him_."

Egwene stopped suddenly in her tracks, turning to look at her quizzically, not quite believing the words coming from her mouth. "How is that possible?"

"That is the problem. It is not possible, and now I have an ever emptier spot in my mind. I just can't stop crying."

Arms surrounded her, clutching her tightly to a warm body. Nynaeve welcomed it, laying her head on Egwene's shoulder and letting the sobs quake through her body. It seemed to swallow her, this emptiness inside. Trying to drag her into a hole she would never escape, a cage of invisible bars, and she was fighting against it. But the emptiness was so strong; she only felt desperation and a great urge to let loose her tears.

The time passed from seconds to minutes. After nearly a half-hour, Nynaeve drew back, drying her cheeks with the back of her hands. Egwene smiled at her, linking their arms yet again. None of them said anything as they returned to the inn.

Nynaeve was deep in thought, and when they entered the main street, she spoke her thoughts, "I need to see his grave. I need resolution."

Egwene did not stop, but she was thinking, probably weighing the options in her mind. At least it did not seem as if she had anything against it. "We can probably go there after our visit to the first settlement. It will be a detour, but it is possible. We will have to send a letter and explain why we will be late, though. That can be done in Lacha."

Nynaeve bobbed her head, feeling very tired. But they still had an approximately five-hour-long ride before them, so she could not further their stay for a short nap. She would just have to hold on until they arrived in Lacha.

* * *

Kasuki Tatiana bustled around the infirmary, papers in hand to be filed away and a slight irritation surging through him. He did not like to have the watch at night. Not that there were many patients in the infirmary – most cases could be Healed, and only those who needed a long-term Healing process stayed there – but he would very much like to visit the city. It was what young men his age did when they had time off from studies, but no. The Mistress of Novices – who also handled the Accepted – had this to be his punishment for the next two weeks. Night shifts in the infirmary, and doing paperwork. Nothing useful. 

He had come to what was earlier the Black Tower nearly two years ago, and had stayed loyal to the Dragon Reborn when Taim and his followers tried to rouse a rebellion. But the Lord Dragon Reborn had seen to the matter just a few months after cleansing _saidin_, and Taim had been killed in the fight. Then, more than a year ago, before the Last Battle, the two Towers had been united, and he had come here. He had been excluded from Tarmon Gai'don, something he did not enjoy at all. Though he could understand he was only a Novice – and too weak in the Power – at the time, he had wished to take a part in the Greatest Battle of the Third Age.

But he had stayed in the Grey Tower – which was still white, mind you – and studied, so that when the Battle was over, he would be ready to take the Testing of the Accepted. Less than a month ago he passed the Testing, and was one step up on the rank ladder. And then last week he just _had_ to fool around during class, resulting in disaster and three weeks in the infirmary as night shift.

Nothing exciting ever happened here. Most of the patients slept at night, leaving him to mull over boring paperwork or do some serious thinking. Perhaps that had been the idea of the Mistress of Novices, but he thought it still was unfair. He had not been the only one in on the prank.

Clutching the papers in his hands, he walked over to a nearby cabinet in which he laid them on different shelves according to what information and importance they held. A low snore came from a bed not five paces from him. It was a Warder-in-training who laid there, having some unfortunate happenings in the training yards. He was to stay here for a week. He looked the same age as Kasuki, which made him think how the two of them could've spoken to each other if this had been the day shift.

Forcing the bursts of irritation back, he closed the cabinet doors and started walking back to his desk when he spotted the open door to one of the private rooms adjoining the infirmary. A single candle was burning on the nightstand next to the bed, in which a man lay unmoving. He was tall, with thick arms and shoulders that made him look stocky. His curly brown hair and thick beard looked too neat to not be unattended for – the Sisters and Brothers at the day shift were probably behind it. Kasuki knew the man was a Lord, and that he had been one of the Lord Dragon Reborn's closest friends. Perrin Aybara was known for being a member of the _ta'veren_ trio.

He wondered what it was that seemed so out-of-place as he stepped inside the room quietly, trying to get as much information from the scarce light coming from the candle. Kasuki had been inside here a few times before, just observing this man who had fought together with the Dragon Reborn, now in some deep sleep of some kind that no one could awaken him from.

But now there was certainly something that did not feel right. He walked closer to the bed, observing the still form, brows furrowed. So strange…it almost looked as if—

Suddenly, a hand shot out and grasped his hand. Kasuki yelped and tried to struggle free when he saw the eyes of the man before him start to flutter. Wide-eyed, he caught glimpses of a golden glow beneath the eye lids. Unable to find his voice, he just watched as the eyes opened half-way, then widen as if in recognition. But the eyes weren't observing him, rather something in the roof, or the air, or something invisible. He began to feel uneasy.

Just as he drew away his arm from the strong grasp, the curly head turned to him, lips trying to form words. Yet as if they were under the same speechless spell, the man could not utter anything. By the look of him, he had something very important to tell, and it was distressing him to be unable to speak. And to top that, the eyes were beginning to fall close again. The man dragged Kasuki closer, still trying to talk.

"Alive," he rasped very low, almost too low to hear. His eyes were still closing, but it seemed he was fighting against it.

"Yes, you are alive, my Lord," Kasuki stuttered confusedly, not understanding. Was the man asking if he was alive?

"No," the man whispered, "he's al—" But he never got to finish the sentence, for his eyes closed and his body slumped back into the pillows. The arm hung limply over the edge of the bed. Kasuki laid it up and rearranged his body so he would rest easier. Confusion was the main emotion in his body.

What had happened just now? Who's alive? And what kind of disease or weave was this man undergoing, to make him just fall asleep like that? Quickly tucking the bed sheet around the Lord, he turned and went to his desk. This would be a very long report indeed. Perhaps this new information would earn him a cut-off from the punishment, but he did not know if he wanted it any longer. The shifts had just started to get interesting again.

* * *

The night wind was cool to the patches of bare skin, but he hardly noticed. His mind was set on his goal, a little less than a mile to the west of him: a small village, in which he knew he would find _her_. Their trails had led there, and he could sense it, almost. She had been his goal for such a long time, or had it been so long? He did not know any longer. The days and nights had been blurry to him, and he was confused about the current date, even year. And he could not stop in any villages for information, in fear of being recognised, though he had managed to get hold of the things he needed the most: winter clothes, food and a horse. 

His journey had been very long, but he was beginning to see the end of it. If only he could get to her and then it would all be over. The torment, the longing; it blended to one sometimes. He had been through troubles before in his life, but he did not think they could rival this. The images in his mind were burned in there forever. He did not know if he would survive long. But if he just got to her, then maybe…

The man steered his steed westwards past a snow-covered rock formation, tracing the stars above and the glowing lamp posts in the streets of the village with his eyes. She was there, he could sense it now. Very faint, but he knew. Soon, he would feel peace again.

Not long moments afterwards, his ears picked up a horse galloping along the road nearby; he had chosen to stay off-road, as it would be harder to track him then. He stopped the steed with a slight nudge of his knees, and sat completely still as the rider came closer. The road was just on the other side of the rock formation, and the night was so silent, he could even hear the rider mutter to himself. He caught words like "orders", "revenge" and "mistress", but nothing else. It perked his curiosity, and he placed himself so that he could see the rider's face when he rode by.

The rider came quickly but still slow enough for the man to get a glimpse of him. It was a Shienaran. The man studied him, wondering why he was in such haste. Not that he himself was in a rather hurry, but this rider struck him as suspiciously hasty. His steed whined suddenly, and the rider must have heard it, for he stopped and turned around.

In the moonlight reflecting off the snow, he could see the hard lines on the rider's face, and in particular the scar on the front of his neck. And his eyes were very dark before half-widening in recognition. The man's brow furrowed, and he felt fear in him. Did the rider know him, or of him? Was he a scout, or guard, on the lookout for the woman's stalker?

Without thinking, he reined his steed and set off in the opposite direction of the village. The wind roared in his ears and snow fell on his face, but he could hear the rider pursuing him. He nudged the horse to go faster, galloping so fast the snow sprayed in the air around them. He looked back a few times, only to see the rider closing in, and the last time he turned, the man was almost alongside him.

In a desperate move to escape, the man drew the reins hard, wanting to stop the steed, but before he knew it, a fist appeared and knocked him out of the saddle. He was sputtering snow out of his mouth and trying to get up, but the rider was too quick for him, and knocked him out again. Blackness overwhelmed him.

* * *

_The sun was shining, birds chirping and a soft wind drifted through the lazy branches of the surrounding trees. She sat on a blanket on the green grass-covered hill, overlooking one of the many lakes, and most importantly, her sons playing down by the lake side. A smile graced her lips as she watched the boys, not so much older than five, tackle each other in childish glee and run around the sandy lake side. _

_A small part of her was worried they would fall into the cool water, and even though Sharina – sitting on a dried tree trunk with an elaborate embroidery – had promised she would look after them, she couldn't help but look down every few moments. The book in her lap was almost forgotten, its story long past remembering. Her hand was idly playing with blades of grass._

_So this was how happiness felt. She smiled and stretched out fully on the blanket, closing her eyes while revelling in the sun's warmth. She had never thought it could be so comfortably warm here in ancient Malkier. Time passed as she daydreamed of this and that, not a single concern for country matters in her mind. _

_But suddenly a shadow fell on her, blocking the sun from her face. She opened her eyes, just to stare into a pair of blue orbs and…a bouquet of flowers in almost every colour possible. She was quickly on her feet, taking the bouquet and sniffing the soft aroma coming from them._

_"Where did you find these?" she asked, sitting down. The man sat down beside her, gently stroking her hair in a way she liked._

_"Here and there," he replied mysteriously. She chuckled and laid the bouquet down before turning to him. Her hand reached up to his face, fingers tracing the lines she would never forget._

_"I thought you were gone." Her voice was suddenly sad, and she felt tears watering in her eyes. But he only smiled gently to her._

_"I am never gone, Nynaeve," he said softly. "I am always here, in your heart." His hand was put above her breast, directly over her heart. In spite of her tears, she smiled widely and leant over to kiss him, but he drew away. Her brow furrowed. "Wake up, my love," he said quietly, still smiling. "Wake up."_

"Milady, you must wake."

Someone was shaking her through the darkness. Nynaeve groaned unwelcomingly. She wanted to continue her dream, to be with her beloved husband and her children. To take part in happy days that were impossible in the real world. But the voice did not relent, and she finally gave in.

Her eyes opened to find the room still in darkness save for the candle one of the inn's maids held in her hand. The young girl had a look that clearly said she was very sorry for doing this, and it must have been important to wake her in the middle of the night, so Nynaeve quelled her angry retorts and just asked why she was there.

"The Amyrlin Seat has requested your presence in the parlour, milady."

"Did she say why?" Nynaeve asked as she rose from the bed. The maid set the candle on the nightstand and helped her dress.

"No, milady, only that it was important that you came." Nynaeve said nothing to that, and remained silent as she dressed. The maid offered to do her hair, but she told her she would do it herself, and dismissed her. Once the girl was out of the room, Nynaeve sat down on the bed and started to braid her long hair.

The mysterious request puzzled her. She did not know what could have come up to make Egwene call for her, and it did sound very important. Could it possibly have something to do with the upcoming journey? No, she would not have woken her for a simple meeting about that. Problems had probably arisen, something to do with the village, or the worst case scenario, something with the country. Could the rulers have changed their mind, despite their promises? She doubted it; Borderlanders took their promises very seriously, at least the elder. But the younger…

She shook her head. No, that was highly unlikely.

Sighing, she tied the end of the braid and stood up to leave, unconciously stroking the ring around her neck as she let her hand down. Taking the candle in her hand, she exited the room and started waddling down the narrow hallway, thoughts swarming. Her mind returned to the night they arrived, less than two days ago.

The journey from the border had taken more than five hours, and the night was thick when they entered the lit main street of the village Lacha. Her bones had ached beyond anything she had felt before, and the welcoming ceremony had gone by in a flash as all she wanted was to retire to a soft bed. What she did remember was how similar the ceremony was to the Shienaran, with warm cloths, but with the addition of sweet bread broken in two and dipped in salty water before eaten.

The following days had been dominated by tours around the village and surrounding areas. She had watched with fascination at the new technology that had built the windmill, the blacksmith, the farms (though covered in two feet snow) and the woodcutters' huts. It was so much different from the Two Rivers, and yet older than her home village. The villagers had put their minds together and recaptured the Malkieri way of life with such ease, Nynaeve suspected some of them had lived like this in private.

The village itself was one of the largest of the four, as it had been founded second. The town she and the babies would live in lay below the Seven Towers, and had been the first and was therefore the more advanced of the four. According to Haldan Mearny, the mayor of Lacha and owner of this inn, the big town was hosting the building of her new home, a large manor, in which she would live in until the Seven Towers were completed. She looked forward to go there in a week's time, and was secretly hoping it would be the place of birth for her sons. But before they rode there, they would take a detour to the Battleground of Tarmon Gai'don to visit her husband's grave.

Her mind wandered back to the dream, but she refused to think about it; she had arrived outside the door to the parlour. Not a sound escaped the room beyond, and she raised her hand and knocked. The door opened, and a servant bowed before stepping aside. She entered, first spotting Egwene seated in a chair, looking every bit as strong and stern as she could, her stole around the shoulders. Her eyes, blazing with contempt, were set on something to Nynaeve's left, and she gave Haldan, who stood behind Egwene, a questioning look before turning.

She froze.

Before her, less than five feet away from him, sat a man on his knees. In torn, dirty cloths, he was unmistakably familiar. His hair was untreated, and he had let his beard grow without caring. Dark eyes were watching her every move, every twitch of limb or facial line. She felt her breath catch in her throat. The last time she had seen him, he had slain two of her protectors and seriously wounding the others, before turning on her. But Perrin had saved her, and given her a chance to escape.

It was Rhien t'Aldar, a ghost who haunted her steps, who knelt there, hunched over as his hands were tied behind his back. There was strong hate in his posture, and especially his eyes. Involuntarily, she winced and took a step back, arms immediately around her stomach as if to shield her children from him. He sneered, wriggling slightly in his bonds.

A hand was put on Nynaeve's shoulder, and she jumped. The owner was another man, whom had escorted them to Fal Moran nearly two weeks ago. Commander Haydar nodded comforting to her, gesturing to an empty chair beside Egwene. A servant rushed forward with a pillow to divide her from the hard seat, and she sat down with a tight grasp on her children. The prisoner's eyes had never left her; he was staring still as the Commander spoke up.

"I met him on my way here, milady," the man said informatively. Nynaeve had no idea why the Commander had come here, but was not interested in that particular answer at the moment. The new arrival was troubling her, yet it also calmed her to know the man was finally captured. Perhaps she would have peace within soon. Haydar was still speaking, and she turned her head to listen, trembling as she tried to ignore the dark look set on her.

"—and when I turned to see the source of the mysterious whine, I discovered this man sitting on a horse and observing me. The moon was giving tonight, and I managed to see his face. It did not take long before I recalled Milady's description of him and so I set after him. He tried to escape, but I caught up with him and knocked him out of his saddle. I then bound him and laid him across his own horse, and came here. And the rest is, as they say, history."

With a nod, he bowed to both Nynaeve and Egwene before retreating to a place near the wall where he would be only an observer. However, he looked sour for a moment, as if he really did want to take part in the following. The room was silent before Egwene began talking, her voice free of any emotion.

"What is your business in Malkier, master t'Aldar?"

He did not answer, only staring darkly at Nynaeve. She looked away, feeling uneasy in his presence, almost unsafe, which she thought was ridiculous. The man was bound both by ropes and weaves of Air, surrounded by four guards and three channelers including her; an Aes Sedai stood in the corner of the room, her Warder at her side, handling the weaves. There was no chance he would escape. Her eyes shifted to Egwene, who looked completely calm.

"It would be better for you to reply. It might make things easier for you." One of the guards slapped the back of his head, and Rhien broke his gaze away to glare daggers at the guard. He turned his head to look at Egwene, a sneer on his face. In spite of all the terrible things he had done, Nynaeve felt sorry for him. The cruelness, the sneer, they did not fit him, and yet he continued even if it meant emotional misery.

"My business is my own," he said defiantly.

Egwene smiled a humourless smile. "In some cases, you might be right, but not this one. I know your history."

"Oh, do you?" he replied snidely, "I seem to have forgotten it, but perhaps you could enlighten me of the miserable life I have led the past two years since _she_ came and killed my family. I for one surely cannot wait to hear it." The remark earned him another _smack_.

"So you are here for Nynaeve Sedai?" Nynaeve shrunk back when he set his eyes on her again, clutching her stomach harder. He made no reply, but the hatred in his eyes said it all. He struggled against his bonds, resulting in the guards closing in on him and two of them grab his arms tightly. Egwene's hand went out to put a comforting pressure on Nynaeve's arm, trying as best as she could to calm her down. Nynaeve felt like she was going to be sick; she had not felt such nausea since the first trimester.

Rhien stopped struggling, looking lost for a single moment. Then his eyes hardened and his voice rose, "Do you believe her lies?" He looked at Egwene. She did not lose hold of her calm expression. "Do you believe she didn't kill my family, my wife, my daughter? I dream of it still, and in those dreams I see her there, with my families' blood on her hands and clothes! If that bloody man had not protected her, I would have killed her like she deserves!"

Nynaeve winced at the mention of Lan, and her mind wandered briefly to her dream earlier, before her eyes watered. Ever since the incident in Lacha, she had begun to cry at any possible moment. Now they threatened to fall down from the corners of her eyes again. She turned her head in shame, just as Rhien cried out.

"See! Do you see the wench's Trolloc tears! The flaming, so-called Queen of Malkier, murderer of my family!"

The tears fell, and she quickly raised her hands to wipe them away. She was on her way up when her worst fear happened: he broke free of his bonds in a matter of scarce moments. Her eyes widened, and she tried to grasp the Power but discovered she was shielded! A look to the other women told her they too had been denied _saidar_. She had not known he was a channeler.

Rhien was on his feet, knocking down the guards one by one with his elbows before grasping a sword and commencing the dangerous sword dance with the only Warder in the room. Nynaeve tried to look towards the Shienaran Commander when she found herself unable to move an inch. It was as if she was glued to the chair, but it could only be a wrapping of male Air weaves holding her in place. It seemed the other women had suffered the same fate as well, and she was forced to sit still while the parlour filled with _clanks_ and shouts, blood sometimes spurting from cuts on the two men.

It did not take long before the Commander had found his sword and engaged Rhien together with the Warder. But Rhien was a good fighter, Nynaeve had learned that all too well from their encounters. He was charging the two men with delicate sword forms and quick manoeuvres, in much the same way she had seen Lan do in both training and battle. She could not deny the similarities of the two, but she tried desperately not to think of that now. Her tears were not stopped by the weaves of Air, and they wound their way down onto her dress.

There came shouts from outside the parlour, and the doors shook as if opening but were held back, probably by the same weaves of Air. Right now, she wished to be far from here, somewhere safe and peaceful. She was tired of running, of being hunted, of being exposed to darkness. All she wanted was a place to raise her two sons into strong and handsome princes, and a peace that would last forever. She had thought that would follow after Tarmon Gai'don, the Last Battle, but no. She was a marked woman, a target of the dark side. Nearly everyone was after her.

Her mind was drawn to the action taking place inside the room as the Warder went down in a loud _crash_, breaking a chair. Blood was oozing for numerous wounds, but he did not seem to have received a life-threatening injury. Still, she saw how his Aes Sedai's eyes widened and how much she wanted to struggle against the shield. The tears fell silently.

Commander Haydar and Rhien circled each other, almost like vultures. One in armour, one in dirty, bedraggled clothes, yet both handling their swords with such ease they could be mistaken for Blademasters. But Nynaeve knew there would be no herons on their swords. The swords were raised and swung at each other in a flash of sparks. She did not know the names of the sword forms they were performing, yet it did not matter. It was not a lesson in sword dance; it was a fight for life or death.

In the middle of their dance, Rhien suddenly changed direction of his sword and caught the Shienaran off-guard, making him hit thin air. Then he brought down his sword on his opponent and cut his arm in the joint between the torso and shoulder plate. Haydar staggered, clutching his shoulder, and Rhien slashed his leg, making the man stumble and fall down. Not seeing him fall, Rhien turned…and walked directly towards Nynaeve, sword raised.

Her heart hammered, her breath gone since the outbreak of this battle. So this was how she was going to die. By the hand of a misled man, who refused to learn the truth.

"Cry all you want, murderer," he said darkly as the sword was laid down on her shoulder, pressing against her neck. She could feel the cool iron, the sharp edge. The tears wouldn't stop and she couldn't close her eyes either. Just when she had found stability in her life and was willing to move on it was all going to end in a heartbeat. "No man to save you this time."

And then…pain…wetness…something oozing down on her breasts from her neck… The world had gone deaf. She was still looking Rhien in the eyes, her breath hitching. Her heartbeat was slowing. A gleeful smile was on his lips. She wanted to close her eyes, to be engulfed by darkness. His eyes looked at her, before suddenly widening.

The sounds of the world slammed into her as she was released from the weaves of Air, and fell down on the floor, gasping. Pain, wetness, she reached her hands up to find blood – _her blood_ – on her dress. Above her stood Rhien, still smiling gleefully, but his eyes were dull. A bloody sword stuck out through his chest. As he crumbled, Haydar stood in his place, hand around the sword hilt. He was looking at her, and she was still gasping for air.

Someone was calling for her as her eyes closed. Hands grasped her head, and she half-flew as coldness washed over her. She drew a deep breath, seeing Egwene and the Aes Sedai, both glowing with _saidar_, sitting beside her. Darkness was still trying to overcome her. She felt so tired, so exhausted. As she drifted off, arms lifted her up from the ground and she was carried away.

* * *

The room was well-lit when she woke up. At first, her sight was blurry and she could only bring out blotches of colours before the shapes defined. Then she saw Egwene sitting in a chair beside her bed, her face lined in worry. When they locked eyes, relief flooded the younger woman's eyes and she grasped Nynaeve's hand tightly in hers. It did not seem she had left her side at all; her clothes still had spots of blood. Nynaeve shivered, realising it was _her_ blood on Egwene's dress. 

"Finally!" her friend said in relief. "I was beginning to fear the worst!"

Ugh, she felt nausea build in her throat and her head aching when she tried to sit up. Hands were put on her chest and forced her down on the bed again. She drew a deep breath while Egwene told her to lay still. Her mind returned to last night, the cause for her momentary misery.

"How long?" she rasped, her voice raw as if not used for years.

"You have been out for nearly three-quarters of a day," Egwene replied softly. Nynaeve groaned; blasted man. Her hands went to her stomach, where the babes were apparently waking up. Good, at least it told her they were okay. She did not know what she would have done if he had killed them; his fate would not be as kind as the one he faced last night.

"They buried him not long afterwards, somewhere far away from here, outside Malkier's borders." Egwene seemed to have read her mind. Nynaeve looked at her to find a smile on her lips. "You will not have to worry about Rhien anymore."

Though comforted by the children and her friend's words, she could not help but reply cynically, "With one dead, I only have about thousands more enemies left. If I start a hunt now, I might get a third of them out of my way before I die."

Despite her dark words, Egwene's eyes twinkled in retort. "It is a good thing you have the possibility to live until you're four-hundred then."

* * *

It had been nearly seven months since she stood here last, the day that had changed not only her life, but the entire world's. From the exact same spot, she had hurled weave after weave on the enemy, protecting her own. In particular, she remembered sending a large fire ball on a group of Trollocs trying to sneak up on her late husband. Right now, Nynaeve could feel the same desperation she had felt long ago. The grip around the golden signet ring tightened. 

But in those seven months, the grounds before her had changed. Once, they had filled with thousands and thousands of humans and Shadowspawn and later covered in blood and reeking carcasses. Now, however, the snow had moved north above the mountains and was blanketing numberless stone-covered graves, all unnamed. Below, the ground would be dry and completely devoid of life.

Down on the plains, Egwene was trotting along the small graves, darting here and there in search of the specific location. Nynaeve felt slightly uneasy. She did not know how she would take it when she faced his grave, and she did not dare to guess. Her eyes were following Egwene's mare, nervousness making her twitch in her saddle. The children were having a sword fight inside her stomach, using their arms and legs for swords. It did not calm her nerves, nor did the ache in her back.

A blue-tipped hand from the cold reached up to trace a finger-length line on her neck. Shivers went down her spine and not only from the icy touch on her warm skin. The night before yesterday had almost killed her; she was lucky Rhien did not want to kill her immediately, only to give her a fright, and thus gave Haydar time to get off the floor and swing his sword through the Saldaean. However, the man was probably laughing in his grave now, seeing as what he intended to be a scratch indeed became a nearly fatal wound. Despite their combined powers, Egwene and Kareena had not been able to fully Heal her wound, leaving a scar in its wake. She was sure Rhien had a very merry laugh now, knowing he had given his nemesis a reminder of bad times.

Even if she had not hated him before, she sure did now. He had made her life miserable based on unjust and hot-headed assumptions, nearly taking her children away from the goal she had set her eyes on. Images flashed in her inner eye, pictures of a man standing before her, just having killed two men and wounded another, and hesitating to kill her. She still wondered why. He had not had any problems with killing two days ago, or that day at the market in Tar Valon; his hand had been firm around the sword hilt. Yet the night in Emond's Field… Nynaeve couldn't shake it out of her thoughts.

_Well, I will never know why now. He's dead._

For a second, relief flooded through her, but it was soon replaced by anxious nervousness. Egwene was slowing down in the distance. As she drew the cloak closer to her chilled body, she watched as Egwene suddenly stopped, looked around and then waved to her. Dread filled her, stalling her for several more moments. The Malkieri soldiers behind her – following from Lacha to be there for her protection – sat unmoving on their horses, waiting for her to make a move. Some peeked at her curiously while others were looking everywhere else in respect of her silence. None of them spoke, all just waiting.

Clenching the reins tightly in her hands, she nudged her mare to trot down the path to the grounds. At every step, she felt her heart constrict, but she ignored the stabbing feeling of sadness trying to dominate, forcing it back in the deepest part of her mind. She couldn't afford to break down, not yet. But she knew, as they neared Egwene and the snow-covered grave beside her, that before long, she would have to let the tears loose or face a larger emptiness than before. Hopefully though, that would be in private.

Egwene tried to meet her eyes as she came closer, but she avoided them. A hand gesture stopped her guards some fifty paces away, clearly telling them to stay there and let her be alone with her grief. They did not object, staying behind, protecting her back. She met her friend half-way, the young Amyrlin giving her a small comforting smile as she too took off to give her some privacy.

Nynaeve slowed down, hesitating. The children were moving uneasily around against the walls of her belly, noticing their mother's distress and reacting. Sharina had told her how her emotions affected the children, both inside and outside her body. They were empathic to the mother's feelings, and as they had not yet experienced such emotions, it made them react in much the same way. She had no idea how her advisor knew so much complexities about pregnancy and babies; it was not very common.

She looked over her shoulder, staring silently at the group of riders some eighty paces away from her. They were like silhouettes against the blue and white horizon, still and unmoving, yet alert. She suddenly felt very exposed, here, alone among hundreds of graves, with no protection except herself. And in her condition, she would not be able to stand up to herself like she once had.

_Just focus, girl,_ she told herself, taking a deep breath as she turned her eyes on the ground. Carefully, she climbed down and stood unsteadily on her feet for a moment. Even what had seemed like a simple task before was ten thousand times as difficult now. She was breathing heavily, but ignored it. Her eyes found Egwene's footsteps in the snow and she followed them until they stopped. Noticing how they were turned to the left, she twisted and found herself before a broad and long knoll of snow.

For a long time, she just stared at the nameless grave, all kinds of emotions rushing through her until she swayed on her feet. Then, her breath hitched. Eyes burning, throat thick with knots, Nynaeve fell down on her knees, barely noticing the increasing ache in her back or the violent knocking of arms and legs. Tears gathered in her eyes, falling down her icy cheeks and red nose. Sobs tore through her chest and up her throat where she kept them at bay until she could take it no longer.

"Oh Lan!" she cried out and half-threw herself on the grave, unconsciously careful of her stomach. No comprehensible thought went through her mind. All she could think of was the dark emptiness within her skull, in a place where a bundle of emotions should have been but was gone as the man of her life.

Pain, pain; she wanted to be in this merciless anguish forever, tormenting herself while hoping it would bring _him_ back to life. At the front of her mind lay the guilt, the guilt of surviving whereas he died. He should have been here, watching his sons grow to be like him, experiencing the new rise of the kingdom Malkier, spend time playing with her hair like he used to.

Anger filled her, bottomless, fearing anger. He had left her here, alone in this world damned by darkness and haunted by ghosts, old and new. She was a hunted woman, just as prized to the Darkfriends as the Horn of Valere was to the Hunters. And she had the children to raise, along with a new kingdom. All that, alone. It was his fault! He shouldn't have died! It was his place to be here, at her side!

Anger was replaced by sudden grief, and she laid her head down on the end of the grave, not caring of the cold seeping into her skin, into her bones. The tears would not stop, the sobs would not cease. She was so alone. There was no one to love her like he had done. He was dead, gone, vanished. Buried naked, right under her head, in the Last Embrace of the Mother, the Borderland custom and saying. Her precious, beloved husband and father of her children would never comb her hair with his fingers again. Never would he hold her in his protective arms and shield her from harm. Never would he kiss her softly on the lips before she fell asleep.

It was only the icy kiss of snow that met her now before she drifted off, exhausted.

* * *

The man was staring down at the commotion. The numberless graves were of no importance to him and were ignored. He had only eyes for the lone figure down on the grounds that the riders were going to in haste. They were far away, but he could make out the long braid flung across the grave she was lying by, and felt an emotion which had become customary to him whenever he thought of her. 

The riders had reached the figure now, and he ducked out of sight when several of the soldiers searched the hillside around the grounds for enemies. Staying in hiding for several moments, he took the chance and looked over the edge to see the party ride off to the south-west. He knew where they were going, and grim awareness took over his senses. When the night fell over their camp, he would sneak in and finish what he had started.

Giving a wane smile to his steed, patting his neck, the man mounted and backtracked. It would all be over tonight.

_

* * *

_The tent was dimly lit, and it took a little while before Nynaeve recognised her surroundings. They were back in camp, some three miles away from the old battlefield and just over the Malkieri border. They were probably going to leave at first light if they were to uphold their agreement of arriving in Tatara, the capital of Malkier,the following night. 

She sat up on the bed, sitting with the covers wrapped snugly around her while her thoughts twirled inside her mind in a dizzying balance between control and chaos. It felt better inside, now that she had finally let out some pent-up emotion she had always fought hard to contain within. But still she felt the tears spring forth from the corners of her eyes. Her hands covered her eyes as she let the sobs tear at her sore throat again.

Though losing the bond had brought her many nights of crying, the mourning of Lan's death was much, much worse. The tears would never stop, and came at the most inconvenient times. Like during the dinner with the Arafel's king Paitar Nachiman back in Fal Moran after the negotiations. It had been embarrassing, and she had hardly dared to set a foot outside her apartments again. Only Sharina's pestering about silliness had forced her out among people again.

Sharina… Nynaeve looked up, half-expecting the woman to sit on a stool near the small fire giving light inside the tent, but it was all empty save for her. She sighed, drying her face with the corner of a pillow and sniffing tightly. Her sight was blurry, and she stepped out of bed onto the carpet-covered ground, not even remarking on the luxuries given to her as if they were the end of the world.

The washstand had been placed in a corner, not far from the fire, and she walked over to dip her hands in the lukewarm water and splash it across her face. She wiped the water off with a towel. There was a small handheld mirror lying on the stool next to the washstand, and she picked it up, seating herself on the stool at the same time. Nynaeve scowled at the slightly puffy and red-coloured face glaring back at her, tugging her braid. This was why she hated crying.

She was about to unbraid her hair when there was a swish of cloth and a cool wind drifted inside the tent for a short second before being cut off just as suddenly. There was silence, then…

"I have killed a lot of people to get here." The voice was low, nearly whispering.

Nynaeve felt like a four-pound stone had been dropped in the pit of her stomach and shivers went down her spine. She couldn't breathe. They had said he was dead. They had said he was gone forever. But she knew that voice. There could be no mistake; she had heard it so many times before, even dreamt about it.

Her feet felt like lead and could hardly support her as she rose slowly. She didn't know if she dared turn around. Her breath caught in her throat when she heard the man take a step forward. His presence made the tent seem suddenly small, and the air was crackling with emotion. She felt faint, but forced herself to stand uptight and alert. The children were **very** restless beneath her trembling hands.

Taking a deep breath, she turned around very slowly. Six feet away from her stood a hooded figure, broad-shouldered and unearthly tall in her frightened eyes. The clothing was dark, reminding her of death and darkness. _This cannot not be_, said a part of her mind. _This is not happening. It is impossible. He is dead! They buried him! _

"I must be asleep," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks again. "This is a dream. I am dreaming. You are not real."

The figure gave a slight sound from the depth of the hood; it sent shivers down her spine and coldness crept into her. "If I am not real, how can you then feel the warmth of the fire at your feet? The coldness of the air on your bare skin? The children in your belly…" The voice drifted off.

The silence stretched on until the man stepped forth. Nynaeve gulped, holding her breath, hands protectively on her stomach. One of his hands went up to hem of the hood, opening the cloak to let her see the shining long sword at his waist. She took a sharp intake of air through her nose, sensing her feet would not be able to hold her up any longer.

The hood fell, and so did she…but arms took hold of her before she hit the ground. She was put on her feet and forced to look up into the man's ice blue eyes.

"If this is a dream," he said softly, quietly. "How can you feel this?" Tipping her chin up, he brought their lips together in a gentle tantalizing kiss. She drew in the familiar scent through her nostrils, noticing grime and sweat could do nothing to hide it from her. The kiss deepened until they were in crushing embrace, both holding on to each other as if the ground was going to disappear beneath them any moment.

Too soon they had to break, and she smiled through her tears while he looked her up and down. "Light, Nynaeve! You are even more beautiful than I can remember."

"Oh Lan! You're alive!" And she flung herself into his arms again, not releasing him until she had been thoroughly convinced the firm body under her hands was real.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED** **

* * *

**

_**Author's Notes:** Dun, dun, dun DAAAA! (Mohahahah, got you!) Finally, I get it off my chest! It has been weighing on me since his supposed death in "Nynaeve's Decision", and many reviewers complained about it (some even went as far as saying they would not read a single word more until I promised he would be alive, which I couldn't, because it would ruin the sequel). And it nearly sent me off my rocker when some reviewers (cough, Tale/Nighthorror, cough) was going on about how similar Rhien and Lan were. Well, there is a reason for it, and I shall reveal it in the next chapter. However, it was painful for me to dodge around your questions and hints; I just wanted to scream out "HE'S NOT DEAD!" in frustration. (Laughs)_

_My hope is to now get some reviews that say: "I did NOT see that coming! I love you!"… I hope I have managed to keep you in the dark of Lan's survival. I couldn't just kill the man, could I? I'm far too much of a Nyn/Lan romantic to do something so cruel (unless his death is the main topic of a story, then it's something else). Next chapter will follow as soon as I've finished it and have had my beta to read it._

_**Regarding the village on the border of Malkier and Shienar:** I know fully well that Fal Dara is the last settlement before entering the Blight, but I was too lazy to make them stop by the fortress and undergo several ceremonies and this and that, and instead made up a whole new village. Let us say it has been there all the time, it was just Jordan who didn't mention it. ;) Or, we could say it was built after the Last Battle (in just under nine months, wow!)_

_**Regarding "Trolloc's tears":** I needed another phrase for "crocodile's tears" that would fit in the Randland, so I came up with this nifty synonym._

_**Regarding Lan's golden ring:**I have to admit, I had totally forgotten about it. It's strange really, how when you write a story of this magnitude, you forget the small things that was typical for the characters. Like braid-tugging and thinking of the golden ring. I have tried to remedy that mistake in this chapter, but I am too lazy to include the ring in the earlier chapters. So there._

_**Regarding responds to reviews: **Check my LiveJournal (link at author page) to find speedy replies to your reviews. This will continue in the future. _


	14. Chapter 13: The Truth Revealed

**_Disclaimers:_**_ I do not own the Wheel of Time Series. I am just borrowing._

**_Summary:_**_ Four months after the Last _ _Battle__, Nynaeve is settled down in Two Rivers again, but fate doesn't seem to leave her alone. There are people who want revenge... _

**_Rating:_**_ PG-13 (T) _

**_Author's Note:_**_Lookie, lookie! What's that? A CHAPTER! A completed one at that. :) I finally got around and found the inspiration to jump back into the world of fan fiction, to which I am certain several of you readers are happy for. Which reminds me... Thank you so much for your lovely reviews! They've been really touching me, and I took great joy in knowing a few of you didn't see it coming that Lan was alive (yess, I succeeded in my mission!). I would like to direct a thank you to _**Lan's Mashiara, Nighthorror, Gea, Hamid, faeriepuck, discordchick **_(for 3 reviews!)_**, Morganofthefairies, F75, sophia, Aria-Wolfstar, Ronarah, Beccabus,seque, Maria, Panthino, foxgem, Nynaeve80, Nynaeve226, Laura Sedai**_and everyone else that has taken their time to read and review this story in the past six months or so. Thank you!_

_And thank you to _**faeriepuck **_and _**EvilChani**_ for beta-reading! I really appreciate it!_

_I am sorry for the late update (what's it been, six months or more?), but I have been through a lot of bad things in my life in the last half year that have had me side-tracked and drained all inspiration. However, things arefinally getting back on track and I can offer more time to my stories. Though, I must warn you that the remaining chapters may not be too quick in the making, seeing as I have only got two months of senior high left and that includes a lot of exams to revise for. But I'll do my best and we will just have to see how things go. _

_Now go on and enjoy this chapter! As the chapter title suggests, many questions will now be answered, I hope... I think it is the lengthiest chapter yet, but I could be mistaken. However, enjoy to your hearts' desires. :) And remember to review!_

**

* * *

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**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN –The Truth Revealed**  
_By neela _

* * *

"How is this possible? You were… you were…" Nynaeve could not bring herself to finish the sentence, sensing the old ghosts from her time in the cottage return and fill her with grief. It had hurt to believe Lan was dead and it had taken a long time to get over it. In fact, the visit to his supposed grave earlier tonight had finally given her the closure she needed.

Now, however, seeing him again was like ripping up the carefully stitched wound on her soul. She gulped to keep the lump in her throat down.

His arms around her frame hugged her closer, the only show of strong emotion that she could see while being shielded from view of his face. Nynaeve burrowed her face deeper into the crook of his arm, smelling the familiar scent and slowly beginning to realise this _was_ real. Lan, her husband and love, was really here!

"Tell me how this can be?" she repeated softly, almost too low for him to hear, but the tightening of his arms told her he had heard. "How can you really be alive when I felt you die that dreadful day? It _must_ be a dream…"

Lan's body remained stoic and firm, but she could feel a significant shift in his defensive stance. "There are many things still in shadows and unclear," he said quietly after a moment of silence. "I can answer some of them, but I am afraid I cannot explain them all. However, what I _can_ tell you, is that this is not a dream." A hand reached down and tipped her chin upwards so that she could see his face.

He was thinner than the last time she had seen him, though he still had strong and lean muscles that bulged underneath the shabby-looking clothes. His hair was dirty and matted, clearly not washed for a very long time. His face was void of any liveliness he had worn before the Battle, once again hard like stone. It had not been hardened by weather, Nynaeve realised, but from something else, emotional and physical strain perhaps? Her heart broke at the thought of all the pain he must have gone through.

And his eyes…Once in a while the dark orbs flashed with the warmth she had seen before the Battle, but most times they returned to a darkened shadow of their former being. It was chilling to watch; she felt the hair on her back spring to life.

But all those things set aside, this was really Lan. Nynaeve was sure of it now. She felt her face would split in two and her body explode from all the different emotions running through her. Tears started to run down her face in spite of the wide smile on her lips, and she hugged his chest so hard it nearly choked him, but Lan did not say anything. Though they were not bonded anymore, she could sense how happiness and relief of finding her alive and kicking relaxed his tense muscles.

"I have felt so empty all my life, even more so after the Battle, like there is a big hole inside me that wants to eat me up. But now there is nothing. Only one man has ever managed to fill that hole, and that's you." Nynaeve looked up at him with her teary eyes, not caring whether they ruined her appearance or made her look weak. And a ghost of a smile crossed Lan's lips as he brought one hand up to caress her cheek. She leaned into his roughened, dirty hand, relishing the strength, comfort and love his gesture gave her. It had been so long…

His fingers brushed lightly across her smooth skin, his eyes trailing them while she watched him. "One word," Lan said, "will not be enough to put words on how my life has been without you, my Mashiara." Their eyes locked and he half-lifted her with one hand to meet the tantalising emotion of his lips.

Nynaeve felt like she was wallowing in the deep waters of the love she had once known and cherished. It had been too long since the last time she had felt his lips on hers, much, much too long. But they were just as she remembered them. Soft, gentle, and persisting. Not pushing any edges, but rather making _her_ want to blow them all to pieces.

Too soon Lan drew back, letting her feet meet the ground again. Nynaeve pressed herself against his chest as best as she could, considering the rather large bulge between them. Her body began to tremble before the full-blown sobs started. Strong arms held her when her feet could not carry the weight beneath her anymore, all the welled-up emotions inside her being let loose in one simple kiss between husband and wife, reunited after so long.

Nynaeve lost track of time and place, floating in an endless darkness where the only thing she could grasp was Lan's sturdy chest and gentle strokes across her back. From the distance she thought she could feel her body being lifted and laid down moments later on something soft, but it was so far away she could not be sure. It was like a dream, an eerie life-like kind of dream. And all she knew were the flow of emotions surrounding her, both hers and someone else's. Lan's, her mind surmised from the depth. He was feeling with her, following her every step of the way like a husband would.

She did not know how much time had passed when the sobs turned into silent hiccups and she could grasp the edge of reality again. Lying in the darkness, Nynaeve could feel the soft material beneath her and knew she had been laid on the bed. There was also a strong force beside her, holding her securely in his embrace. She opened her heavy, teary eyes and watched Lan's comforting and gentle face through the thin film of water.

"Lan—" Nynaeve started hoarsely, but was silenced by a gentle hand across her lips. Lan's eyes softened, and she realised he was holding one hand on her stomach, stilling the fiery kicks of the babies. In her sorrow, she had not noticed their distress, a notion which immediately made her feel guilty at putting herself before them. However, the look of contentment on Lan's face quietened her inner self-berating.

The kicks died down and Nynaeve looked surprised up at him. They had never stilled so easily. When mentioning their father, yes, the babies tended to calm down considerably. But with only the touch of his hand? She held Lan's eyes, suddenly noticing he was looking a bit smug. However, opening her mouth again for some witty remark, only served to becovered by Lan's hand.

"Rest," Lan ordered quietly, letting his hand follow her jawbone and down the slope of her neck. And before she could come up with any defiant retort at all, Nynaeve felt all the strain put on her body for months, finally loosen and leave her utterly worn out.

Blackness was already filling her eyesight when she tried to mumble a last rebellious snap, to an almost inaudible chuckle.

* * *

When Nynaeve woke up, it was still night outside. The moon was filtering through small gaps in the tent, lighting up the items spread across the cloth-covered space. The fire had almost run out, leaving only small red-glowing ashes in the darkness. She could not have slept for long, she reasoned, opening her eyes fully and gazing across the room. Her foggy mind tried to grasp what had happened before she fell asleep, just as her eyes drifted by a large shadow beside the bed.

Half-jumping in fright, the memories came smashing down on her as Nynaeve recognised the stony look upon her husband's face. He did not stir as she sat up.

"Lan!" She breathed, struggling to sit up straight with the big lump between her legs. Leaning back on her elbows, taking off weight from her back, Nynaeve gazed across the bed on the big shadow, streaked with red from the fire and silver from the moonlight.

Even though Lan was twice her age and greying at the temples of his dark hair, he was still beautiful and the most handsome man she had ever met. People might wrinkle their nose at the age difference, but Nynaeve did not care for that. All that mattered was that they had each other. And now it would be forever, she _would_ make sure of that!

Trying again to raise her heavy body off the bed, Nynaeve flailed her arms as she unbalanced. She would have fallen back on the pillows had it not been for the strong hand shooting out to grasp hers and pull her gently into a sitting position on the end of the bed.

Regaining her breath after the small exercise, Nynaeve quelled all feelings of embarrassment and anger at needing help for such an otherwise easy task, and instead calmed her features. The gesture seemed to amuse Lan to no end, even if his face hardly portrayed it. She felt she could read it in his eyes anyway. She set her jaw firmly, one hand gripping her braid to give it a thorough tug.

"You haven't changed," Lan said, barely twitching his lips, "Except sideways." The statement seemed to calm him considerably and he shifted in his seat to regard her better. Nynaeve could not help putting on an indignant frown, before realising it would just prove his statement, and she hastily made her face expressionless.

Moments passed with neither of them speaking, both just regarding one another as if drinking up the sight with their eyes. Her very large belly seemed to gain most of the attention. Nynaeve could only imagine how it would be to part with your pregnant wife when her stomach was as flat as a plank, and to reunite with her six or so months later when she was as big as a house. At least in her head she thought so.

Nynaeve broke his gaze, staring down on her belly as she stroked it lovingly, and a smile on her lips. "They are both boys," she said, looking up to see how the knowledge created a stirring in Lan's never wavering gaze. The ice blue eyes filled with some of the warmth he had shown earlier. Even the wrinkles on his forehead seemed to smooth out in surprise. She smiled gently at him. "Healthy and strong, soon ready to be born."

The last statement had the desired effect. It finally seemed to dawn on him that she was well nearing birth. Lan stood up slowly, taking the short distance between them in one measured stride and kneeling before her. He let his hands rest beside her thighs, his eyes asking permission. At first she was unsure of what, but she realised it moments later and nodded a little shyly.

Eyes on the bulb, Lan laid his hands to rest upon it, letting out a deep breath as one of the children beat against his fingers. Nynaeve could not help but chuckle at the look that crossed his face. He smiled too, the first real smile, albeit a small one.

Unexpectedly, he laid his head upon her stomach too, ear down so that he could listen to the babies' movement. She did not have words. Six or seven months since last they had seen each other, and now he did something that could only be described as the most uncharacteristic in the whole time she had known him. And for the first time since he had entered the tent, Nynaeve thought Lan looked utterly content and happy, in contrast to his otherwise ragged appearance. She could not hold off the concerned twitch of her eyebrows. He did not look all too well at all.

Drawing his attention so that he lifted his head, she raised her hands, stalling them for a moment asking for acceptance, before clamping her jaws together determinedly and taking hold of his head. Lan's face remained passive, although with a small hint of amusement in his eyes. She tried not to let it bother her. _That man! _

Once in control of the situation, Nynaeve grasped the Power and greeted the new life streaming through her veins while performing the Delving. Her brows knitted as she forced herself to hold the flow together as she searched the depth and surface of her husband. So many scars, so many wounds inflicted in both the past and the present, and through both physical and emotional pain…

Breaking the weave, she sank further down in her seat, out of breath from holding the Power for such a long time and the sorrow filling her from all the new knowledge.

The physical wounds Nynaeve could Heal with time, once regaining her strength again, but the emotional ones were another matter. Lan would have to skim through that ground himself and decide what the best way to approach the subject was. However, she would one way or other learn of what had happened to him

"What happened to you?" she asked softly, a pained expression on her face. Lan held her gaze for a long time, his face soft. Then it hardened.

* * *

**Flashback **

* * *

It was only the Void, _ko'di_. His sword danced here and there, cutting and twisting, never stopping while he focused on the single flame in his mind. Eyes half-closed, he spun around, slashing a Trolloc with hawk's beak before stabbing one with pig's snout. He was dimly aware of the heavy battle taking place around him. Al'Thor was less than ten feet away, holding his ground in a way that made Lan proud. The sheepherder had developed into a fierce swordfighter, completely able to hold his ground. Lan and the other soldiers of the life guard were just there to watch his back.

Another Trolloc fell prey to his Power-wrought sword. He could care less. They were murderers, deceivers, responsible for his county's fall and destruction. This was what he had worked towards since birth, why he had agreed to become Moiraine's Warder. Avenging his country, fighting against the Dark One in what could be a fruitless battle. From the corner of his eye he saw a Fade advance, and swiftly twirled to engage in a short fight, ending in the Spawn's death. Just as soon as he finished he was found himself somewhere else, always keeping a certain distance to the Dragon Reborn, but no further.

The bond was telling him of Nynaeve's determination and stress. He could not afford to worry, and was forced to put it off his mind. It could be fatal to think of his wife and children in a moment like this. A kick to his shins proved him right, and he stumbled forward before stabilising. Turning, he only just avoided a serious injury to the neck.

The face behind the sword smiled maliciously. Lan grimaced, quickly hurling his sword forward so the man fell back. But the man was quick on his feet, showing off the heron-marked sword in his hand. Not before long the two were engaged in a ferocious battle, Lan having a slightly hard time focusing on _ko'di_. Nynaeve was on the move. His opponent managed to sneak in a cut on his sword arm; Lan grunted with momentary pain, then it was gone.

Before the man knew what had come across him, he lay down on the blood-stained ground, very much dead. Looking around him, Lan noticed al'Thor was moving too and hurried after him, a part of his mind fixed on the bond. The Shadowspawn were not a challenge, and he was soon at a five feet distance from the Dragon Reborn, who was apparently fighting with one of the Forsaken. Both swords and _saidin_-created weapons were used.

Lan focused on the flame. The intensity of the battle was a reminder of older times, when he and his old mentor Bukama had fought in the Aiel War. But that was a long time ago, and though he was skilled in the martial arts, this new situation took a little time to get used to. However, the cards seemed to be in their favour at the moment, so he did not have to overexert himself.

A few minutes later, al'Thor's opponent disappeared in a haze of red-yellow daggers. The young man let out a breath, Lan noticed, but was soon dancing again. He watched discreetly from the corner of his eyes, half-nodding in approval of the moves the young man made. Though when a Fade approached, he drew his gaze away and let the Void guide him through the battle.

Then, out of the blue, something happened far off which captured him completely. In the seconds that passed, he finished off his opponent just as the bundle at the back of his head vanished. It was like he had been drenched wet by a bucket of ice cold water, much worse than the lake which had fallen down on him by Moiraine's hands. He froze, not believing what had happened.

_No,_ his mind cried, _she cannot be dead! _

_Ko'di_ was lost to him, but the sounds of battle still tuned out, and he stood unmoving and fleetingly deaf, looking towards the hill where he had seen her last. It was void of any horse, man and woman. He thought he saw a flash of light, but it turned out to come from a lightening which struck just four feet away from him.

_The hill is empty. She is gone. _A chaos of emotions rushed through him, mixing until he could not tell what was what and only stood completely still as the war raged on about him. His features hardened, the walls around his heart turned to ice. He felt empty. The darkness was threatening to swallow him. It was tempting to let go.

_She may have only been stilled_, said a part of his mind. He did not know if he dared to trust his unconsciousness. It was too fleeting, and he had a very bad feeling in the pit of his being. This had happened once before, with Moiraine. He knew the sensation, he knew what had happened.

A roar beside him cut through his mind along with a swish of a sword, but he found himself uncaring. He had only lived because of her, why should he not die when she died? The sword in his hand weighed suddenly half the world, slipping from his fingers. There was no point in living anymore. His blood and his country would die with him. He would welcome the Last Embrace of the Mother.

His eyes sought out the beast which would be his bane, watching the blade inch closer and closer. Every muscle in him relaxed as _ko'di_ took over his mind.

He did not feel anything when the darkness took him.

* * *

"Get up, yeh maggot!"

Water splashed onto his face. It was cold, brutally waking him from his nightmares. His eyes opened wide, searching shortly before staring hard at the leering face behind the bars. Anger filled him, but he reined it in.

"No' so talkative taday, eh?" the man asked with a toothless grin as he set a cup of water and a piece of old bread down on the ground.

Lan refrained from speaking, knowing it would only earn him another round of the whip. Though he welcomed the pain and wished for his own death, he was kept alive for a reason yet unknown to him. Days and nights had passed beyond his remembrance, though he believed it was around two weeks after the Battle, more or less. Twenty days spent in a dirty, dark cell somewhere deep below ground, only company being the drizzled, old one-eyed man on the other side of the bars.

Cackling with glee, the man turned, dangling the key chain teasingly around his finger as he always did, and disappeared out of view down the narrow hall. The light grew dimmer as the torch vanished, leaving only the miniscule candle hanging on the opposite wall in the hallway to shed some light in the tight darkness.

Lan sat still, eyes closed as he tried to embrace the Void. It was the only thing he could use against the vile treatment he received, but lately it was proving difficult to reach it. He did not understand why, yet he cared less for trying to understand. It did not matter to him anymore. He just wanted the emptiness, far greater now than after he lost his first bondholder, to engulf him and take him out of his misery.

She was dead. Gone, along with the rest of his blood line. There would be no Malkier restored to life, no continuing of traditions and Malkieri culture. He would not see his children grow, would not lie with claw marks on his back in bed with his wife during days of a peace he had never known, and would not be able to one more time tell her how beautiful she was and that he loved her.

The emotions tried to overcome him and he pushed them away as he always did. Tears were not his way of coping. Fierce and stone breaking physical labour was. It would normally drive away his thoughts and feelings, postponing them continually until they ceased to try and take control. But now when there was only silence and darkness… He welcomed the torture he underwent once in a while, dragging him onto a field he knew and could deal with rather than the inexperienced situation of mulling over his inner self for hours and hours on end. The hours of tortures were out of the ordinary day-to-day life now, cherished as he once treasured the loving moments between him and his heart's love.

"_And I promise you, that I will do everything in my power to survive whatever is going to come."_ Her last words drifted back to him, unbidden, spoken at the moment their ways parted before the Battle. He could remember feeling too emotional, fearing he was treading on uneasy ground with the new emotions, and just kissed her senseless before seeing her riding off to the hill with a last 'I love you' on her lips. Schooling his face and shoving the worry away from his mind he had returned to the Dragon Reborn and the lifeguard.

Although he knew it was not long since that day he first woke up in this foreign cell, each day and night had blended together so that it felt he was trapped in a never-ending year. Had it not been the guard's habit of counting the days since his "pitiful, little wife" died to torment him, Lan would have believed a tenfold of years had passed. The life force in him was certainly waning like the aging process had been sped up. He felt old, weakened, and ready to die. But his captors would not grant him his wish. If he tried to refuse food and drink, he would be force-fed. Though the mystery behind his capture perked his curiosity, he desired the final end rather than the preceding solution.

Out of habit, he moved to take the bread and cup of water from outside the bars. He winced as muscles rarely used, along with wounds and bruises stretched during his movements. Gritting his teeth, he got hold of the items with no further movements and sat back against the wall once more. The chains around his wrists and ankles tore at raw flesh and made it bleed, having been fastened too tightly around his joints to hinder him in escaping or shifting too much on the cold, stone floor. Stabs of pain shot up through his body, but he ignored it and set to swallow what little nutrition he had been given.

Twenty days' diet of bread and water had lost him body fat, resulting in muscular weakness and less ignorant to cold. There was a very thin rag in the cell with him which he used to cover himself during sleep, but it was not always sufficient. However, he was getting used to it. He calmly ate the piece of bread, gulping it down with his half-full cup of water. Strangely, the water tasted different. It was the same foul taste, but with a hint of something… he could not describe it. However, he paid it no heed. Death came to all one way or another, though he could have preferred a death in combat. Finishing, he set the cup back outside the bars, wincing slightly at the pain it caused.

He leaned back, feeling groggy all of a sudden. It was becoming harder to stay awake all the time lately, and he knew there would soon be another round of beating and whipping. He had discovered there was a pattern to it all. One period of sleeping followed by one period of torture where he was not allowed to sleep, and so it went on time and again. The best thing he could do was sleep while he was able to.

With Nynaeve's smiling face in his mind, Lan drifted off to nightmarish darkness.

* * *

Where was he? He looked around confusedly through fogged eyes, wincing at the surges of pain shooting through his body. It was totally dark, a small candle flicking now and then but soon died out. In the brief moments of light, he had seen bars. Was he in a prison? How did he get here?

He tried to sit up, only to find himself chained efficiently and agonizingly to a rough stone floor. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think, but his mind was full of thick fogs that did not disappear at his will. His eyebrows furrowed. A picture of a knife in his hand flashed by behind his eyelids, followed by a dark-haired woman who stared surprised at him when he stabbed. A beautiful woman, looking elegant in her silken dress, but he could not have cared less. The blood stained her chest, and he smiled evilly. She was his enemy, she deserved it.

No, that was not correct. She was not his enemy. He shook his head. It was his wife. The same woman was smiling at him now, whispering soft words huskily into his ear. They were inside a boat's cabin, locked in each other's heated limbs. The soft movement from side to side was making her slightly green, but she ignored it.

Darkness overwhelmed him. Inside the shadows, sharp raps of a whip burned into his back. Sweat and blood mixed and ran down his body in thick streams. He wanted to escape, yet embraced the pain completely. Someone was speaking to him in harsh tones, swearing and teasing. He tried to fight against it, but was held still by bonds. His mouth was shut by some invisible gag. The whip rapped over his naked legs.

He was back in the cell, feeling numbness creep into his bones. The face of his wife soothed him, brushing away the pain as if she was in the same room as him. Dark hair in a long bra—no, black, loose hair framing high cheek bones and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. His wife, Erina. And their daughter. He wanted to smile, but couldn't. Memories from a darkened past flashed within his mind. Blood spreading out in the white snow, eyes trailing the tracks until they landed on a small, dark-haired woman. A yellow shawl hung around her shoulders beneath the cloak. His enemy.

Pain again, stronger this time. He was welcoming it, urging his captor to continue harsher than before. He gasped defiant retorts, earning him another round of the leather whip. It didn't matter. She is dead. They are dead. His whole future is dead because of some invisible enemy he cannot even hunt to avenge them. He feels shame. Shame for not protecting them, for not fulfilling his oath sworn on his birth bed. It is better to die than live in shame.

His eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily on the cold floor of the cell. There were voices in the hallway, not far away. He can barely hear them through the haze of his mind. Images of dark hair, black hair, happy times, bad times were rushing past inside his head, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the voices. If he could have reached _ko'di_, he would, but it was no use. He forced the chaos to quieten, managed with this to hear the last words of a male's voice.

"-resisting. He will not submit to it. We should kill him now."

"No," said a female. "He will not resist the weaves for long. There is no way out for him than the one we choose. He'll make true to our plans."

Darkness dragged him away from the voices, soon filled with only images of a black-haired woman and child.

* * *

The cell was growing colder. They had taken away the rag he used for covering himself during sleep. Food had also been cut down on. He now only received nutrition every second night. He tried to forget the stiff muscles and icy bones, even tried to surround himself with a cloak of indifference, but it was constantly nagging his mind, torturing him in a sense the whip and other instruments could not.

He had lost track of the days and nights also. Earlier, when things came in order, he could have scrambled together a small sense of time, but now it was only everlasting darkness and pain. They did their best to keep him awake too, by various means. He willed his mind not to think about it, not to sink down to the level where he would become insane.

_Ko'di_ was an option no longer available to him. The illusion of a safe haven had been ripped away from him day by day, slowly breaking his spirits down to the deepest level. Hope was a fantasy he did not grant himself any longer. With such evil facing him and his doom predicted, what would he gain from clinging on to a shred of delusion? The witches certainly knew how to handle him.

Something furry touched his leg, but he had learned to ignore it. The rats had finally broken through the walls, flittering inside the cell to haunt him with the relatively easy option of going back and forth between imprisonment and freedom. Somewhere in his mind, he knew they could have offered him with some nutrition, something to strengthen his body. But as he had given up hope, he had given up the will to live. All that stood between him and his death was his captors.

Grimacing, he shifted in his seat. The motion tore at his muscles, especially around the shackles fastened round his ankles and wrists. Why the witches kept him in chains and not used their powers to tie him down, he didn't know. And he did not want to think about it.

Suddenly, the creak of a door opening far away drifted to him. His eyes were alert by old habit, his ears straining to hear more. This was strange. Even though the captors were irregular in their physical tortures, they never let him undergo two rounds after one another. He sat still in the darkness, noticing a soft hue of light creeping down the hallway towards him.

Footsteps, almost too low to be heard, inched closer and closer. By the light tread, he surmised it had to be a woman, but not a small one. Perhaps only a hand or less smaller in height. He kept his eyes trained on the light approaching, wincing when it grew too strong for his darkness-accustomed eyes.

"Rhien t'Aldar?" A voice sifted through the needle sticks of pain behind his eyes. He tried to look up, seeing only a dark silhouette holding a ray of light above her head. She was wearing a cloak, its hood drawn up to shadow her face.

"Who are you?"

"A friend," she replied. The rattle of keys against steel resounded in the cell. The barren door was open within seconds. "I am here to rescue you."

Suspicion rifted through him, tearing at his senses as the mysterious woman sat down beside him and unlocked his chains. What if this was another trick of theirs? She was a woman. Granted, she had not used magic powers to open the door, but that could be a hoax. He rubbed his wrists as the chains fell down to the floor, clattering loudly. The woman released his legs, and that was all it took.

Lunging forward in a motion his body had not done for an indefinite time, he grasped the woman by the neck and pushed her against the wall. She yelped in horror. "How can I trust you?" he said gruffly, squeezing her neck testily. His body screamed against the sudden motions, but he ignored it. "How do I know this is not another torment?"

The woman was gasping, struggling against his hold. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "I am a friend of Fhriam de Mesha. He sent me here."

The name had been so distant up until now, a past he had never thought to experience again. His mentor, the one who had taken him in so many years ago, who had taught him the way of the sword and introduced him to Erina Methadi, who had later become his wife.

For a moment, he wanted to release the woman in his grip, but an ounce of suspicion held him back. "If you are his friend, you would know the name of the son he lost in childbirth." It had been a dark event, and many had believed the baby boy was nameless, but the Lord had told Rhien in confidence the real name.

The woman did not reply right away, but when she did, a look of desperate hope flashed through her eyes. "His name was Ylric, after his ancestor Ylric ni t'Oveshi."

Having received the answer he was looking for, Rhien loosed his hold and stepped back. The woman tried to win back her breath, her gasps breaking through the tense silence.

"I believe you," he said tensely. The reality of this had not yet sunk in, and he was at a loss to what to say. "What now?" He looked down at the woman, now straightening her back and looking determined.

"Now, we get you out of here."

* * *

Back in the place Selene – the name of his rescuer – called her hideout, Rhien could not remember how he had gotten here. At some point during the journey, he had lost consciousness because of the strain put on his weakened body, and only woke up moments ago.

"Lie still," Selen urged, pushing him back into the pillow. He was lying in a soft bed near the fireplace in her small cottage. It was a big, one-room cottage, holding only the barest of furniture and personal items. He noted a row of jars containing herbs and weeds, and had a flashback to a place he could not recall being in. Immediately, his head seemed like it wanted to split from within in pain.

"What's wrong?" the woman asked worriedly. He clutched his head, groaning slightly. It seemed one other information was needed, and he could hear her distantly bustling around the cottage and rattling with jars. Her presence returned to the bed, and he could feel something trying to pry their way past his lips. "Eat this, it'll help."

Obediently, he opened his mouth and swallowed the sweet-scented leaves. Soon the headache diminished, leaving him fatigued and weak. He felt her hands on his forehead tenderly washing away the grime on his roughened skin. Slowly, he drifted off to a nightmarish sleep.

He relived the events leading him onto the path to destruction. He heard again the scream from his wife in the distance; saw her body lie bloodied on the snow-covered ground with her eyes wide open in unstaring fright. He saw his daughter just feet away, clutching the ragged doll in her lithe arms, blood oozing from a wound on her back. For the umpteenth time he saw the face of his family's murderer. Dark eyes, short form, with dark hair tugged back in a waist-long braid underneath the cloak. Her lips were twisted in a malicious grin, and she laughed evilly when he tried to get to her, only to fall back, tied up in the chains from his old cell. He could not move, and she was squeezing air out of his lungs with her invisible powers…

"Nooo!" Rhien shot up from bed, his eyes showing the raging emotions of a wounded boar. He could vaguely hear a woman's voice speak to him, and swirled around to see the face of Selene. She was seated beside the fire, eerily silent save for one sentence:

"I can give you the chance of revenge."

His fate was sealed.

* * *

**Flashback end**

* * *

"From there, the journey for the two of us was marked by an endless hunger for vengeance that coursed through my body, driving me on until I passed out of exhaustion. The thirst for blood nurtured me throughout the day, making me focus on nothing but what waited at the end of our hunt. You: el'Nynaeve Mandragoran, Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah and Heroine of the Third Age."

Lan was speaking slowly, his face drawn in a painful expression as he recounted the events leading him here to this point. Nynaeve had tears running freely down her cheeks, her white-knuckled hands clutching the covers tightly. He had been inflicted so much pain, so much deception and lies, and why? Because the dark side was willing to use any means necessary to get to her and rid her off the face of the earth.

He must have been Compelled to do it, there was no other explanation, Nynaeve reasoned inside her tired, foggy mind. Taken during the Battle, his corpse forged and laid for the survivors to pick up and bury. Then tortured and made to believe he was someone else, someone with an ongoing agenda and undying wish to kill her, who every eyes and ear would know about. It must have been easy for the Lanfear – Nynaeve was sure the woman was behind this, going by the name of Selene and all, she could even remember Egwene's fight with her in _Tel'aran'rhiod_ – to somehow get hold of the real Rhien t'Aldar and use him to transform Lan into a forged imitation of him. How that had come to happen, neither she nor Lan could tell. But it _had _happened.

"We tracked you throughout the Borderlands," Lan continued, "Heading west until it all stopped before Almoth Plains. Selene was at loss and we stayed there for three days before turning and travelled to Tar Valon." He paused, his brow frowning ever so slightly in a way that made her believe he was genuinely surprised at something. Something he had just realised, perhaps.

He turned to her, grasping her lithe slim hands in his roughened, wary. His eyes bore deeply into her eyes, trying to convey something to her, something even he could not fully understand. "I can still remember the mixture of relief and anger when your tracks disappeared, and it caused me another headache. Later on when I reclaimed my identity, I surmised that whenever I tested the boundaries of my memory, a headache would block and drive my attempts away. Selene had put it off to being a consequence of the tortures I received in the Tower, but it had to be a restriction of some kind. I cannot explain it any better."

Nynaeve stroked his cheek, across sharp stubble several days old, trying to comfort him with a smile. Instead it seemed he was the one to comfort her, brushing away the tears on her face. "The ways of the Aes Sedai stretches far," she spoke, in a calmness that belied the fear beneath her flesh, "It sounds like a weave of the Black Ajah, but I know even less than you. It could stem from the Age of Legends."

Lan only nodded gravely, his face set in the old expressionless grimace again. He returned to the story. "In Tar Valon, I found my way to a thieves' guild where Selene said I could derive information on your whereabouts. I sought out the leader, a spiteful man called Damien—" he broke off suddenly, looking away from her. It made it clear on her that it was an incident he would rather not remember, and let it pass. She urged him on.

"I got what I wanted in Tar Valon, the lead on your further journey, and we travelled south before breaking off to the west and trailing down the Mountains of Mist. I thought the difficult parts were over, that all which remained was to get to your final position and it would all be over. But someone had noticed our presence. Apparently, when the real Rhien escaped the cellars of the Tower, word had spread throughout the world that he was a hunted man. From what I can tell, the eyes and ears of the Amyrlin sent word to the Tower, which immediately dispatched a group of Aes Sedai and Warders to apprehend us."

The indirect revelation of who had killed Egwene's Aes Sedai did not surprise Nynaeve, she realized. Ever since learning it had been Lan with Rhien's appearance, the gruelling truth had circulated in the depth of her, taunting her with the knowledge.

However, she did not feel disgusted with him. Only sad. Sad that he had been forced to do those things. Lan told her he had been split in two after killing those people, that he had been near surfacing as himself again, but that Selene had given him another batch of the vile potion again.

She closed her eyes, the tears having dried up. Lan was still speaking, almost monotonously, barely registering her movements as he wallowed in the depth of his memories.

"And then we had crossed the Mountains of Mist and entered the Two Rivers. There we met…" He stopped, his jaw set in a grim expression, eyes flashing with anger. "We met Isam. Or Slayer as he is called. He must have realized who I was, even with the Illusion on me, and he taunted me constantly with how he had attacked your cottage."

So many things clicked into place as Lan's story drove on. Nynaeve knew then that she had mistaken Isam for Lan that night, instead of Perrin. And that the wolf in the Dream World had been Slayer. His wounds had been treated in the real world by Lan, who had then on the night of the Trolloc attack gone into the town to finish his mission. It had been the battle with her guards, including Tam, and then the hesitation in killing her which gave Perrin the chance to attack. It made sense. Nynaeve shivered.

"Sometime during the fight," Lan said in a dark tone, "the weave of Illusion must have disappeared from my face, for when I lost my veil, Perrin recognized me."

Nynaeve's eyes widened, not expecting this. Perrin had known? Could that explain the mysterious sleep he was submitted to? Perhaps a weave by the Black Ajah or from the Age of Legends, to stop him from talking? Why not just kill him? Why go to the length of only rendering him sleeping? All the questions disturbed her mind, increasing the headache she had in following the current story and matching it to the unanswered events in her past.

Lan had stopped his story, looking at her in worry. She gestured for him to continue, nodding again when he gave her an arched eyebrow.

"I did not realize this of course," Lan said, "nor did I understand the consequences of it when I returned to Selene and Slayer. While busy treating my wounds, I was hit across the head, probably by Slayer, and rendered unconscious. I woke up next in the cell where I had been before, still believing I was Rhien. I thought I was back in the Tower, captive again. No contact bar a man bringing my single meal a day." The puzzlement returned to his features as he paused and tightened his grip on Nynaeve's hand. "This continued for I do not know how long, before I one day by a flash of lightening, remembered _everything_. I was myself again, al'Lan Mandragoran. And no attempts of Selene's could reverse it."

"I think I know what happened," Nynaeve said with infinite clarity, brows furrowed, yet a small sense of victory inside her. If she had the timeline correct… She looked up at him. "However absurd it may sound, I ate a weed that reversed the evilness inflicted upon me. I thought it would bring you back to life, and in a way it did."

Lan gave her a ghost of a smile. "With you, my love, nothing is absurd." Nynaeve did not have it in her to continue the shy denial, wanting the rest of the story. Lan's big hands enfolded hers as he looked her straight in the eyes while speaking.

"Knowing you were alive gave me reason to live again. I worked out a plan to escape and went through with it. No one knew until I was well underway north. In a village east of Tar Valon I heard the rumour of Malkier being rebuilt, that the flag of the Golden Crane was flying again, and I knew I would find you there."

His voice drifted off, marking the end of his story. Nynaeve was speechless, touched by the honesty in his words, angered at the maltreatment of him and sad for all the pain he had gone through. She had not been the only one to mourn the loss of a loved one and he had not had anyone to lean on like she had. And there had been so much more he had experienced that would have torn her heart completely had she been in the same situation.

In the end, Nynaeve found she could do little else but hug his chest tightly, closing her eyes as he returned it.

* * *

Egwene sat cross-legged on the bed in her tent, papers spread across the covers, and a feather pen balanced in its ink bottle. A frown was fixed upon her face while she read the latest report from her eyes and ears in Fal Dara. It had arrived only moments ago by a falcon, which meant it was very important news. She bit her lip, not quite believing what the coded letter said.

"_The enhanced sword is not what it seems, it is tainted by the night."_

The meaning was as clear to her as it could ever be and with it followed consequences she had hoped dearly were not going to happen. She trusted the writer of the letter with her life, and if she was given a warning against someone within the group, then that was the truth no matter what anyone else said.

Scrambling the papers together, not caring what order they ended up in – she had more vital matters waiting for her – Egwene hurried out of bed and found clothes to wear. She did not bother in calling the maid for help, knowing the trip she was heading out on did not call for a perfect appearance, only sheer force of will.

Throwing a thick winter cloak around her shoulders, Egwene snuck out of the tent and into the cold starless night. The guards outside her tent were gestured to follow, and they did without question.

For a moment, as shadows crossed their faces and hid the features from sight, Egwene thought with horror that the traitor could have managed to turn some of the guards to the dark side, but she quickly pushed it aside as she remembered who her personal guards were. Two Aes Sedai impersonating Tar Valon guards in order to protect her should a situation like this one occur. None except a channeler would know the truth, if they could see past the strong Illusion Beldaere had put on them. Being only female channelers in the group ensured that no one would be the wiser of the two guards, except Egwene of course.

"Has it happened, Mother?" Turin, a tall, fierce Amadician spoke from the corner of his otherwise unmoving lips. The other man, Hal, also broad and lanky, listened carefully without showing it. Both men knew the exact reason why they had been assigned this duty and also the meaning behind the falcon being brought to their Amyrlin moments ago. Her Keeper of Chronicles, Egwene thought, was a practical man thinking far ahead, for which she praised his thoughtful mind.

"I am afraid so, Child," she replied with a strangled sigh, cold fear beginning to simmer just beneath her skin. Her brow furrowed as she trudged through the snow, all kind of possible situations running through her mind.

"Lady Mandragoran is our outmost priority at the moment, but we do not want to draw unnecessary attention. Therefore it must look like I am just paying her a friendly visit." The two men nodded slightly, only so that she could see it. Egwene forced the worry and fear off her features, resuming a serene appearance.

_I only hope I will not be late._

Walking through the eerily quiet camp, only the scattered fires from the guard posts in between the tent and occasionally slipping through gaps in the tents, lit up the walkway from the Amyrlin's tent to the dark tent of Lady el'Nynaeve Mandragoran. Coming in view of the medium-sized tent – Nynaeve refused anything that could house at least five people – Egwene stopped in her tracks.

The guards outside Nynaeve's tent were gone.

Dread filling her immediately, Egwene abandoned the act of calm approach and instead started to half-run to the opening. The tracks in the snow showed the guards had stood there and then moved away. There were also foot tracks leading into the tent, too large to be a woman's.

Egwene ignored Turin and Hal's whispers of staying back, rushing past them and embracing the Power as she pushed the flap open.

"Nynaeve!" she called as she ran the last few steps inside the tent—and stopped, her mouth slightly gaping.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, was a very loving, embracing couple, whereas the smaller form could only be identified by the long braid lying across the man's broad shoulder. Nynaeve in the arms of… The man turned his non-hooded head, ice blue eyes immediately digging into Egwene's dark orbs, leaving her speechless and surprised beyond reason.

"Lan…" she whispered, just as Nynaeve's mixed expression peered up from the chest of… Egwene could not believe it. She would not believe it! Al'Lan Mandragoran had been killed in the Last Battle, Nynaeve had confirmed it herself. This man had to be impersonating him, a male channeler with a strong Illusion upon him.

Without giving it a second thought, Egwene let the sweet life running through her veins form into a fierce rope of Air that wound tightly around the lanky man and pinned his arms to his body. She proceeded to lift him up from the bed, ignoring the shout of denial coming from Nynaeve as the woman struggled to her feet.

" Turin, remove his Illusion," Egwene commanded harshly, still ignoring the woman on the bed trying to get up, crying out denials. Nynaeve had to be Compelled or similar if she believed this man was Lan. Contempt ran through her when Egwene thought of how low the Darkfriends had sunk if they preyed on the love of a grieving woman.

No response from her guards made her look across her shoulder at their impassive stances. None of them were going to remove the Illusion? Had Beldaere's plan really backfired? Had the traitor managed to persuade them to join him?

"Egwene—"

"No, Nynaeve, this man cannot possibly be Lan," Egwene objected, narrowing her eyes at the neutral lines on the face of…this man who tried to lure them, feeling the anger flow steadily through her. "He died in the Battle!"

Suddenly, Egwene felt her connection to _saidar_ being cut off, resulting in the man falling down on the ground on his feet, out of balance for a moment but regaining it quickly. Surprise and fear filling her, she looked back at Nynaeve, seeing the determined set of her jaw and the glow of _saidar_ surrounding her. The woman had shielded her!

"Nynaeve, you can't believe him to speak the truth, he is—"

"He is al'Lan Mandragoran," Nynaeve interrupted with a dangerous glint in her eyes. Egwene gulped involuntarily; the woman was quite scary when she had to, and right now reminded her of how she had been Egwene's Wisdom and mentor once. Nynaeve continued undeterred, "He is my husband and the Uncrowned King of Malkier. Do not you think I would know if he wasn't?"

Not believing it, Egwene looked back at the man claiming to be the supposedly killed Lan, locking eyes with him and feeling again the same cold that she had sensed before the Battle, and before Nynaeve married him. Harried, she turned and stared at her two male Aes Sedai, silently asking the question on the front of her mind.

Turin and Hal shared a significant look before shaking their heads in unison. Hal spoke on their behalf, "He is not a channeler, nor does he have any weaves upon him." And in her mind, Egwene knew there were no weaves of _saidar_ on him either.

Egwene looked at the man in front of her again, studying his features. It looked like he had been subjected to maltreatment, malnourishment and torture, but deep in those blue eyes, there was a familiarity Egwene had not seen in months. It had to be… She looked to Nynaeve, who had sat down on the bed, clearly a little exhausted and without the glow of _saidar_. The woman was staring at her expectantly, with a tint of hope in her eyes.

"How…" She stuttered, not knowing what to say and still not believing it could be true. Yet all those around her, people she trusted with her life, had the same opinion that it was Lan standing just feet away from her. Al'Lan Mandragoran. It was like a dream. "How is this possible?"

It was the man himself who answered. "I was taken from the battlefield and my corpse forged and set on fire. You could not identify me except by the sword and the armour, I am right?" Egwene nodded, head swivelling with the knowledge relayed to her.

Lan shot Nynaeve a look before he proceeded. "In captivity I was slowly brought to believe I was Rhien t'Aldar, a man with contempt for Nynaeve, as you can remember, by the dark ways of the Power. The real Rhien was rescued from the Tower only weeks before the Battle and brought to the place where I ended up. When I fully believed I was him, I set out on a quest with Selene – or Lanfear as is her name – to find and destroy Nynaeve." At this point, he looked at Egwene with something akin to guilt and hate in his eyes.

"It was I, who dealt with your group of Aes Sedai, Mother, and I will take my punishment for it accordingly. It was also I who came to Emond's Field on the night of the Trolloc attack, which was in reality a diversion from Lanfear so that I could get into town and finish the work for them. They wanted Nynaeve's blood, and in my Compelled mind, I was forced to do it.

"But that night my mind rebelled and they saw me as a security risk. I was in captivity again, and Slayer took the job I had been assigned earlier. I understand he was killed in Fal Dara?" Egwene nodded, her mind trying to catch up on the story. It made perfect sense, she could not deny that.

"At that time, I had regained my real identity, by something Nynaeve says was her doing," he flashed Nynaeve a second look, who reddened at the indirect scolding. Egwene thought back to what it could possibly be, but could think of nothing. Lan continued, "I escaped the clutches of Lanfear, almost at the same time as Rhien escaped her hold again. I went north, and as Nynaeve tells me, so did he. You caught him in one of the new towns, Lacha, I believe."

Again, Egwene nodded, before another thought struck her. The traitor! He was still loose somewhere in camp and here she was, trying to come with a warning and instead being caught up in other equally troublesome business. She shook her head. Lan had stopped his story, which had enthralled her and in the end convinced her half-way. But she did not really have time for this now, so she would have to cut it short and let him convince her fully on another time.

"I think…I believe you…Lan," Egwene said, looking up at him and sparing a glance at Nynaeve's relieved face. "You have got still to convince me fully, but there is no time for it now. Your story has brought me back to the topic of why I came here in the first place." She turned to Nynaeve, who sensed her fear immediately and clutched her stomach. Turin and Hal shifted behind her, they too aware of the previous situation.

"Nynaeve, he is here, the man who killed Slayer in Fal Dara," Egwene said urgently, walking closer and embracing the Power once more. "It is Commander Haydar. My eyes and ears in Fal Dara has just confirmed it." Nynaeve's eyes widened as the consequences of that dawned on her.

"Haydar?" Lan spoke up, his voice a little sharp. Egwene turned to him and saw his face darken considerably. "I know a man of that name. He is one of Lanfear's lackeys."

"It would seem so," Egwene replied, tension stiffening her neck. "And it would seem to fit your story too, Lan, for it was he who caught Rhien and brought him to Lacha. I do not doubt his mistress saw Rhien as a security risk, just like you, and wanted him terminated."

Nynaeve was swaying in her seat, one hand across her eyes and the other clutching her round belly. In a flash, Lan was by her side and gesturing her to lean against his chest. Egwene followed the couple's gestures worriedly, still suspicious of him, but she calmed somewhat as she saw the familiarity between them.

She turned to Turin and Hal, opening her mouth to speak only to be cut short when another guard rushed into the tent, bumping into the stocky duo of Aes Sedai before regaining his balance.

"Mother, the Trollocs are attacking the camp to the north! A horde of them!" The guard was vivid, an open gash across his temple being the reason for the streams of blood upon his face. Egwene's eyes widened, the realization that she had been too slow to react on the falcon's message registering within a second.

However, this was no time for berating oneself, and she felt her senses turn to battle mode. "I want every able-bodied man on their feet and out there, battle strategies given out by Commander Jaina. Send a messenger to Lacha, telling them we need their help. And if you find him, I want Commander Haydar captured and alive. Spread the word." The guard took it as a dismissal, rushing out the same way he came in. Egwene turned to Turin and Hal.

"I want you to take Lady Nynaeve somewhere safe and keep guard on her." The men seemed to protest, seeing as they were supposed to protect her, but she wanted none of it and stopped them with a pointed stare. They nodded curtly and drew their swords. Egwene was sure they had taken hold of _saidin_ too.

"Nynaeve—" Egwene started, but got no further as the tent suddenly flared up, caught by what seemed to be a ball of fire. The tongues of red and yellow spread quickly, smoke rising up inside the tent and making the air crackle with intensity and choughs.

Hands caught hold of her and pushed her towards the opening. She tried to resist, desperate to save the life of Nynaeve and her children, but the hands were persistent and she found herself out on the white ground within moments. Her eyes were stinging badly and filling with tears. She struggled to see clearly, wanting to rush back into the burning tent.

Egwene should not have left her with the man she suddenly reverted back to being an impersonator. Forcing herself out of the protective hands of Hal, she moved back towards the tent, only to stop at the sight as the broad-shouldered man carried Nynaeve out in the open. Lan's eyes were narrowed, red-shot, but he did not relinquish his hold on the lithe woman.

Before she got to them, a flash of lightening struck the ground only a foot in front of her. Egwene jumped to the side, embracing the Power and letting the new life form into a protective shield around the small group outside the burning tent. The weaves attacking them were borne from _saidar_, she realised, and in a pattern she knew all too well.

"The Gwiddon," Egwene whispered grimly. She turned to the others. "It is Lanfear, I will deal with her. Get her to safety," she nodded at the coughing Nynaeve, having fought her way out of Lan's arms and standing unsteady on her feet. Turin and Hal responded with counter-attacks in the direction of the now-lunging Shadowspawn surrounding them.

Egwene, with a silent hope they would be okay, made her way towards the base of the _saidar_ attacks where she was certain to find Lanfear. The woman had escaped her once before, in _Tel'aran'rhiod_, but it had not mattered, because Egwene had managed to protect Nynaeve that time. Now, being drawn away from her old mentor and friend and also leaving her in the hands of a man who claimed to be the long-lost al'Lan Mandragoran, she was not sure how it would go.

Darting burning tents and the occasional group of Shadowspawn, Egwene followed the slope of the snowy hill towards the top. The fires cast a red-yellow glow towards the horizon, lighting up the tall frame standing on the very top of the hill, arms outstretched as more attacks in all kinds of sizes and shapes bore down on the camp beneath.

"Lanfear!" Egwene called, pulling up the strongest shield of Air, Fire, Spirit and Earth and tying the weave so that it surrounded her. The woman, tall and dark with blazing eyes and a calm appearance turned to her. Her lips seemed to curve slightly, disturbingly.

"The little girl thinking she can play the Amyrlin," the Gwiddon shot back with a smile. "I have been looking forward to this since the last time we met." She gathered the forces of Fire, Earth and Spirit, spiralling a wave of razor-sharp blue objects towards Egwene, who dodged them with ease, albeit a little out of breath.

In return, Egwene wove a thread of Air and Water, smashing down on the other woman like a hammer to the anvil. But the weave distorted and sprung into a thousand pieces as it hit the strong shield around the Gwiddon. She gritted her teeth, urging herself to continue the fight.

But no matter what she did, the other woman had an answer and a counter-offensive to everything and Egwene was soon on the defensive. It rather looked like the woman was boring herself to death with such a trivial thing as fighting the Amyrlin Seat of the Gray Tower.

Daring to look down on the battlefield below them, Egwene noticed at once the two circling men near the ashes of Nynaeve's tent. Lan and Haydar. Where Lan had found a sword, Egwene did not care, as long as he was protecting Nynaeve, who was standing quite a distance away between Turin and Hal. She was watching her husband, also trying to protect him with weaves of _saidar_, but the effort took a lot of strength from her. Not to mention that she was rubbing her back in a way that made Egwene believe she was near-collapsing.

A flash of lightening brought her back to the fight with Lanfear, which Egwene berated herself for loosing concentration for a moment and falling prey to a sharp cut across her thigh by a fiery fire blade. Gathering her might, she flung a spray of sparkling fire balls in Lanfear's direction, to no avail. The woman put them out with a wall of Water.

"Getting tired, Amyrlin?" The Gwiddon said amused, drawing closer and sending another shot of fire blades, followed shortly with a stream of lightening that shot pain up Egwene's back. She fell to her knees, out of breath. Lanfear continued, "What do you say we cut this short? We both know what I want and that you will not be able to stop me."

Egwene's eyes widened in realisation and she followed the movements of Lanfear with a horrifying feeling. Down on the battlefield Lan was striking down Haydar with precise movements, while Nynaeve was slowly swaying on her feet to Hal's evident fright.

Lanfear chuckled. "I always knew the Uncrowned King could not kill his wife, but there was a time I almost believed he would do it. However, he failed, just like Haydar and Rhien failed me. No more. The Awres," Lanfear spat the name out, "_will_ pay for what she did." Egwene looked back at her, suddenly knowing that Lan's story was true and that there was nothing now that could deny the truth of who he was.

Struggling to her feet, clinging on to the Power with all her might, Egwene tried to form a shield around her old mentor, but it was too late. Lanfear was ahead of her and had already knocked out Hal with a weave of clenching Air, before proceeding to shield and tie up Nynaeve. Unable to do nothing but stare, Egwene followed as a horn blew and a pair of murky Darkfriends showed up from nowhere and grasped Nynaeve before rushing off with her.

Egwene started to run towards them, but Lanfear struck her with another fire blade and she fell down the slope, rolling through the snow, leaving a blood-splattered trail behind her. She looked up in the direction of the Darkfriends, seeing to her horror a Gate form before them and Lanfear at their side. She waved at Egwene with an evil smile, Nynaeve struggling against the hold of her captors, and then…there was nothing.

Nynaeve was gone.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

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**_Author's Note:_**_ Gah, I never thought I would get this piece finished! Well, as it happens, I did:) I did have some problem figuring out how I wanted the chapter and I did end up with editing and changing massive portions of it. Thinking on the story onwards, I think I am looking at possibly just a couple of chapters left. Perhaps only one and then an epilogue. We will have to see how much I want to drag out the ending. :)_

_Now please be nice children and review, and I'll work very fast (at least as fast as I can considering my final exams "**gasps"** are coming up really soon!) to get the chapter done._ _:) Oh, and let me know if there is still things you're wondering about regarding the whole story plot or whatever! I'll try and do my best to answer. :)_


	15. Chapter 14: Capture

**Disclaimers: **_I don't own Wheel of Time, it belongs to Robert Jordan. I'm just the nanny, taking the kids for some play time._**  
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**Author's notes: **_Sorry, sorry for the extremely long wait! As people might have known after visiting my author profile, I have in the last year been very busy with work and school, and recently I just moved to another part of the country for attending a new school. As such, I simply haven't had the time or strength to write any fan fiction at all. Well, I do know I have uploaded a few stories earlier this year, but those are stories dated a few years back, so... By the way, at the bottom of this chapter I have included a list of things I had to mention to my reviewers regarding the facts and statements in this story. So be sure to check it out!  
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_Thanks to all those who have reviewed! Especially to _**Phoenix82 **_who gave me the final nudge to post this chapter! I am forever in all of your debts! You certainly make my day anytime:) Now, on to the story! _

* * *

**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Capture...**  
_by neela_

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PART ONE 

Egwene supported herself on shaky arms, lying awkwardly on her stomach in the snow, gritting her teeth at the pain and not quite believing what had just happened before her eyes. It had been a very long time since she had last been caught so utterly unaware and off-guard. Remembering correctly, it had to be dated back to when the rebel Aes Sedai had laid siege on Tar Valon and she had found herself in captivity. But this time someone else had become the prisoner.

_She was your responsibility! _Her mind screamed at her. _Even if she would've argued to the Aryth Ocean that she could very well take care of herself, it was your duty to make sure she got through all these ordeals she has been forced to undergo the last months. You promised! _

Instantly, shame filled her, mixing with heavy guilt and the emotions slammed into her mind with such force she reeled. Months back, after Nynaeve had took off the day after Tarmon Gai'don, Egwene had promised on Lan's memory that she would protect her mentor and friend. It was the least she could do.

It took her another painstakingly long moment before Egwene felt in control of her emotions, at least enough to force her mind to turn on. Unshed tears were swallowed as she stared down on the end of footsteps in the snow where the Darkfriends had taken off with Nynaeve. This was not the time.

Spitting out a handful of snow that had been crunched into her mouth and nose as she fell through the white blanket, now splattered with blood from her wounds, Egwene listened as the battle still raged in the background, growing in intensity as she forced her legs and arms to cooperate. They were still stinging and aching from the fire blade attack from Lanfear, the blood loss making her weak. Her arms suddenly gave out underneath her and she fell face-down back in the snow. Groaning, she lay still and tried to muster some strength to move.

Heavy thuds thrumming against the snow in a rapid rhythm announced the coming of someone from down-hill, breaking through the chaotic thoughts and emotions tearing her insides. Egwene raised her head to see a swish of dark cloak run along the path of ruffled footsteps and drag marks, the reality smashing back against the shame and guilt, strengthening them as the bearer of the cloak stopped in a flash and stood eerily silent. Lan held his sword still, presumably borrowed from somewhere, Egwene guessed, as he had not carried one back in the tent, and his eyes were set on the sudden stop of the footpath. By hindsight or earlier observations, he seemed to know exactly what had happened. Blood, dark and red, was dripping from the tip of the sword, colouring the snow in periodic drops resembling an hourglass.

Tick, tack.

Realising suddenly what the blood meant in Lan's particular case, Egwene hurriedly crawled to the edge of the hill as best as she could, ignoring the pain as she moved, and stared down on the field below where tents were ablaze and dead bodies of both Shadowspawn and human form lay littered among them. The battle had suddenly died down, it seemed, as quick as it had begun, only the odd person wearing armour moving about. From where she had earlier seen Nynaeve being protected by Hal and Turin, the two men were slowly getting to their feet, blood surrounding them as they clutched their wounds. Hal was also clutching his head, obviously not quite recovered from the knockout he received from Lanfear previously. No Nynaeve, so her eyes had not deceived her.

Further away came what she was looking for—the stage for the dancing of the swords between Lan and Haydar. Trollocs and soldiers alike lay in a circle where the duo had fought and smack in the middle of it laid Haydar. At least she thought it was him, from the bloodstained armour the body still wore. He was not moving, which meant Haydar was either dead or mortally wounded. She hoped he was dead, that Lan had finished him off. He had been a key part in all the bad things happening to her friend and mentor. He deserved it.

Tick, tack.

The thuds changed abruptly both direction and speed, swiftly appearing at her side as she staggered to her feet, wincing as the wounds stung from the coldness of lying in the snow. Egwene tilted her slack chin and met the eyes of Nynaeve's husband. Shivers sprung up and down her spine, the gruesome cold and expressionless blue eyes bearing into her dark ones. No warmth left at all, not even the tiny twinkle she thought she had seen earlier in the tent, before the fire. It reminded her of how much she had feared him in the past, this man capable of such great deeds and having committed so much sword-dancing that men recognised him almost anywhere.

"Where is she?" he asked slowly, the voice as cold and hard as ice—like his eyes. He seemed like the mountain resisting the strong storm as it bore down on it, tearing at its edges but not managing to move it even by a hair's breadth. However, the steady stare was broken for less than a second as the desperate urgency in his eyes belied the hardness of his deep tone. "Where did they take Nynaeve?" Lan repeated when she did not answer immediately.

Egwene faltered, gritting her teeth as her hands clasped the wounds on her thighs. Somewhere she heard someone call for her, probably realising what state their Amyrlin Seat was in. But she did not let her wounds bother her, knowing what she owed to her mentor, to Lan. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"Lanfear and a couple of Darkfriends took Nynaeve through a Gate, I don't know where. It happened so fast…" And it truly had, she realised suddenly, smacking herself mentally for coming up with such a slow mind. One moment she had been in her tent reading reports, the next she was rolling in the snow fending off attacks from a previous Chosen, now Forsaken without doubt.

Opening her eyes, Egwene looked up at the stony features of Lan, discovering that she did not doubt his credibility any longer. Even Lanfear had confirmed his story during her talking and though she could quite possibly be lying, which would be a Lanfear trademark, Egwene's heart bore no doubt of Lan's earlier words. He could be trusted. He _had _to be trusted. There was not any room for doubts if they were going to rescue Nynaeve from wherever Lanfear and her minions had taken her. Lan moved only a fraction, shifting his gaze back from the empty spot and on her.

"Could you see where they went? Can you recreate the Gate?" He sounded totally professional now; a hardened warrior who accepted what had happened and did not dwell on it for long. Egwene wished she had the same feat, not wanting to think back on the fight with Selene or seeing Nynaeve's frantic eyes.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I couldn't see anything. As I said, it happened so fast I didn't know it was over before it was." Enduring the hard stare, mentally telling herself he was not blaming her for anything (even if she deserved it – Nynaeve was _her_ responsibility!), Egwene could feel the cold creeping into her. She drew the cloak tighter, the aches and wounds on her body starting to grow numb as a crass breeze came from the north.

Lan was quiet, staring off into the distance, neither at she nor the spot where Nynaeve had last been seen. His cold and stony expression was turned to the south, his fists clenching and unclenching around the sword hilt to a point where Egwene was not sure whether his knuckles or the thin layer of snow was the whitest. Eyebrows knotting ever so slightly, Lan looked to be deep in thought, but Light knew what the man would be thinking. Only Nynaeve had ever seemed to have an idea of what he was thinking.

Egwene sighed, her head starting to pound. She racked it over and over, but no matter how hard she tried to think back on the Gate, everything blurred with the agony of just having undergone a fiery Power attack from the Gwiddon. She gritted her teeth in anger, both at the former Chosen and at herself. If only she had been…

"Mother!"

A man's voice broke through her violent self-reproach, drawing her gaze to see the only two male Aes Sedai climbing up the steep hill, apparently unaffected by the wounds which left trails of blood in the white snow. Worry struck her as she watched their slight limping and hardened eyes.

It was Turin who reached them first, the Amadician's long pale hair rattling with bells at the end of his small braids. He halted by her side, eyes widening slightly as he discovered the bloody tears in her clothes. "You're hurt," he stated with a calm voice Egwene was sure belied his real concern. Hal and Turin had always been one of those she held dear in her heart, having earned their unconditional respect.

"It's nothing," Egwene said, waving away any attempt of aid Turin had in mind as Hal came up on her other side, his dark matted hair slipping out of the pony tail and clutching on his sweaty and blood clot forehead. She noted their Tar Valon guard uniforms lacked no bloody stains like hers did. Everyone upheld their duty and paid the necessary price, that was her philosophy. She needed no different treatment just because she was the Amyrlin Seat of the Grey Tower. In battles, casualties were treated just the same, be it an enemy or a friend – on the brink of death everyone was just humans, equals, no social rank or sword skill differencing them. With the exception of Shadowspawn, of course.

"Mother," Hal addressed her, keeping his distance, "I'm sorry we couldn't protect the Lady Mandragoran. They came out of nowhere, both swords and Power attacks. Before we knew it, the Lady was gone." Egwene's brow furrowed, seeing in her mind how the events must have occurred. Hal and Turin doing their utmost to protect Nynaeve with their swords and _saidin_. Yet for some reason, two of her Keeper's top notch Aes Sedai had been overcome. How?

"Who was the source behind the attacks? Was it _saidin _or _saidar_?" Egwene had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She noticed Lan had not turned his gaze back at them, not wavering from the horizon to the south, but his ears and stance seemed alert. Hal and Turin gave each other the briefest of looks.

"It was _saidin_, Mother, singularly," Turin said lowly, almost in a growl. "And for one man to overcome mine and Hal's combined powerful shields…" He drifted off, the meaningful silence speaking volumes. It was known throughout the Tower that Turin and Hal were among the strongest male Aes Sedai. If they combined their powers…

"…he must have been nearly as strong as the Lord Dragorn Reborn, if not more," Hal finished. Egwene felt her head ache almost immediately at the problems the statement included. There were not many men in the same league as Rand al'Thor, defeater of the Dark One and Hero of the Age. Now Rand would never do such a thing as turn against Nynaeve (the man held the elder woman in very great esteem) and neither would the other three strong men Egwene could think of. Which left the other side's channelers, the Dark side. But none so strong in the One Power had been reported to be on the enemy's side since Mazrim Taim, who had been killed. None but…

"It would seem as if Lanfear is not the only Forsaken alive," Lan spoke silently. Egwene's eyes widened in shock, jumping up to see the former Warder still in his alerted stance, eyes on the horizon, but a new fire burning within them. He withdrew his gaze and settled it on her, the sword in his hand twisting slightly under the strain his hand bestowed upon the hilt.

Another Forsaken surviving the chaos and purging which happened at the Dark One's demise? Egwene felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her, her heart stopping for many agonizing minutes before the snap of a sword against the ground punched it into function again. Her eyes tore a hole in Lan's back as he turned and walked slowly down the hill, but with a purpose. What could he have in mind?

"Mother, we need to get your wounds checked," Turin said lowly, his eyes on her solely and not seeming to care about Lan. Hal, however, had twisted his body to follow the tall, broad Malkieri as he descended the steep ground. Egwene pushed away the hands trying to help her again, quickly flashing a small apologetic glance in Turin's direction before she took off after Lan.

Half-stumbling down the hill, trying to grasp every ounce of dignity she could scramble, Egwene noted the destruction having taken place in the space of thirty minutes or less. Tents were aflame, some already torn down and lying strewn around in heaps of ashes upon the blackened snow. Here and there lay carcasses of beak-mouthed or goat-tailed Trollocs and bodies not yet been picked up by surviving comrades, many carrying the Tear of Tar Valon and some the Golden Crane of the men following from Lacha. Which reminded her, that the messenger she had dispatched earlier must have already reached the town if nothing had happened during his hasty ride. But of course the help would be too late. The only thing they could assist in now would be the clean-up.

People were rushing to and fro, the ageless women from Egwene's company gathering the wounded around them to give them what little Healing they could. Clutching their torn bodies, the soldiers grunted their thanks under the watchful eyes of the Warders, then limping off to help others.

In another corner of the broken encampment, a small group of soldiers along with one of the Warders were tying up a couple of Darkfriends, by the look of them. A single Shadowspawn was still alive, limbs jerking sporadically as if caught in a death trap, the dark blood colouring the snow beneath. Egwene sneered inwardly. She had little sympathy for Shadowspawn.

Even after the short-lived battle, things continued their bustling activity. The only thing that seemed totally unaffected by the whole chain of events, were the horses standing tied up to a long string between two sticks. They were war horses, most of them, used to being in battle and thus taking the matter with strikingly ease. It was enviable.

Clambering across the smoky remains of a fire, Egwene quickened her step as the broad back some feet away from her sped up around the corner of a flaming tent some men were throwing snow upon. Steam rose in front of her mouth erratically as she cursed what bad shape she was in to not withstand a minor injury such as hers, which was burning numbly for every step she took. Lan's cloak was caught in the wind as they rounded the corner, coming onto the big opening were the main watch fires had been. She nearly crashed into Hal's back, who had stopped suddenly. He looked down at her apologetically, tilting to the side so that she could see what was going on.

Lan was striding forth relentlessly, halting to a stop in the middle of the clearing, which was splattered with blood. Human blood. Egwene held in a gasp as she saw beyond Lan's feet. There, crumbled on the ground in an unceremoniously heap, lay Haydar, the turncoat Shienaran Commander.

Grasping the man by the scruff of his torn cloak, Lan heaved the man up and inched his face close to his. His face was stonier than ever, the eyes as cold as ice, and his voice completed the hardness with stoic coldness as he spoke.

"Where's the lair of Lanfear?"

At first, Haydar looked befuddled, his swollen eyes barely open to stare him back in the eye, his lip bleeding profusely and looking definitely worse for wear. The fight with Lan must have been tougher than it had seemed from the hill top. Then his cracked lips managed a small twitch, before half-grinning like a wolf to his prey when he knows he has the upper hand. "Like I'd tell," he spat out, blood raining on Lan's face, who did not seem unfazed in the least.

He tightened his grip on the scruff, just barely choking the man to show he meant business. "You'll tell," he growled lowly. Haydar grinned again, then began to cough, blood running down his chin as small gurgle sounds escaped past his lips. Egwene realised what would happen before it did: the man's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped against his captor.

Rushing forward, Egwene almost tore the man to her from Lan's grasp, pressing her fingers to his neck. A small, almost faint tap against her skin. He was still alive, if only barely, but unconscious. Her brow furrowed as she half-growled. Damn, he was their most beneficial link to Lanfear and the other unknown Forsaken. If he died…No, she would not think of it.

"Can you Heal him?" Lan's voice broke yet again through her mind, her eyes swivelling up to meet his. She thought back on the Aes Sedai, the tired lines around their eyes that only she could see, the slight slump in their shoulders.

Shaking her head, Egwene threw a glance back on Hal and Turin, who stood behind them, their wounds still unattended. "Our Healing priorities must be turned to ourselves. We won't have power left to take care of our own if we use it on him." It was so hard to say those words, so hard to be the Amyrlin Seat when her mentor's life was on the line, but insignificant next to the lives of many. But she had to say them, she could not shy away. It was something she learned during the aftermath of the Tarmon Gai'don. "Nynaeve would have said the same, with power comes priorities. Not everyone can be saved." _Despite her belief that anything short of death can be Healed, she did acknowledge defeat when met with it._

Looking up at Lan, her stomach knotting uncomfortably in fear of seeing his reaction, she was surprised to see he only nodded grimly before straightening, wiping the blood spatters off his face. _Figures, a man of his calibre and experience know when to give in._ Guilt tore at her, the second time in the space of an hour today. Even if she knew he was a hardened warrior, that he knew the rules of the game, she could not help feeling as if she was betraying Nynaeve.

"But I will have someone look at his wounds and treat them normally." At least there were a few things she _could_ do.

"It will take a long time for him to recover," Lan stated, expressionless. He turned abruptly, away from the bleeding man lying in front of Egwene. "We do not have that time," he spoke across his shoulder. "_Nynaeve_ does not have that time." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "But I will obey your orders, Mother." And then he strode away, Tal and Hurin automatically stepping aside to let him past.

Egwene hurriedly got to her feet, calling after him, "We still have one option." Lan halted, just beyond her two male Aes Sedai guards. He did not turn, but she knew he was listening. "Before I left the Tower, Beldaere promised to double his search for information on the Gwiddon. That is a while ago, he might have more substantial evidence by now. It is at least something to go by. Perhaps only to get you started—somewhere in your mind you must still remember the location where you were held captive."

If she did not know better, Egwene thought she saw a slight twitch in Lan's shoulders following her statement. As the silence wore on and the minutes passed, she knew for certain that he was considering her words carefully. Perhaps she had struck a cord in his remembrance?

"You visit your Keeper, Mother, and I will…think about it."

Egwene smiled a little to herself, watching Lan disappear around the now smoking tent following the put-out by the men earlier. She turned to Hal and Turin, the two of them watching her calmly as they now understood she would not be trifled or cuddled with.

"Take care of our friend here and tidy up the camp, I will pay Beldaere Sedai a visit. Should our Malkieri friends arrive before I do; get everyone together and back to town. I will meet you there as soon as possible."

Her wounds could wait.

* * *

_It was comfortably warm there on the hilltop overlooking the mighty lakes below, the sun hanging low and bathing her face with warmth and light. She sat leaned against a tree trunk, eyes closed as she basked in the glorious day. Months had passed since the last time she felt so content, perhaps even years, she was not sure. Everything was just so wonderful, she felt like she was in a dream. She dared not open her eyes in fear of it being just that – a dream._

_She stroked her belly, the overgrown stomach trapped beneath layers of clothes the maids had insisted she wear. Maids; what a thought. Queens had maids, or noblewomen. She was neither, yet still they treated her as such. Waiting at her beck and call, almost desperate to please her and attend her every needs. Not that she should complain. Her life had been difficult, tough – what were a few pleasures in the overall picture? Nothing much. One could say she deserved a little comfort after all she had been through._

_What _had_ she been through? Her memory was foggy, but she knew that it had been very straining and full of hardships of different kinds. It was strange to not remember, but the voice had calmed her nerves and chaotic mind. She was calm now, like the leaf blowing in the wind. Like a calm river, she should just float down without worries and fears, not have doubt of where the voice was leading her._

_Opening her eyes, she brushed across her stomach again. The flat, firm belly. It was kind of nice, having such a flat belly. Not like those big, waddling idiots jumping into others' beds and suffering the consequences. They were having it rough, she could see it. Oh, she wished she would never end up like that._

_No, wait, was her stomach flat, not overgrown?_

_That is right; it is how it has always been._

_She sighed; pleased the voice was telling her the questions were silly, really. Why should her stomach change in just a matter of seconds? Almost like in a dream. It would have been nice to have a good dream right now. It had been so long since. Darkness had surrounded her for a very long time, just like Min had said once._

_Min, the young girl seeing auras and interpreting them. What had she said? Something about towers and...twins. Twins, now that was that word again. Where had she heard it last? _

"They're twins, Lan."

_That was her own voice, not the other one. Not the one telling her the stomach was flat, not swollen with child, no, children. There were two of them. Where were they now? Her eyes widened as her hands grasped the firm skin beneath her fingers. Nothing, emptiness. There was nothing there!_

_It is okay, it is normal._

_No, it was _not_ normal! Where were her twins, her boys?_

_Lan! Her mind recollected his name from the recent memory, but why? Lan, Lan, Lan... Yes! She remembered now! He was alive! Her stomach should not be flat, it should be overgrown with the bearing of two small babes! _

"_What is going on?"_

_Calm down, it is nothing. You are overreacting._

_Was she? This is silly...No! It was _not_ silly! She was trapped somewhere, this is only a dream! This cannot be real!_

_Thump, thump._

_What was that? What is that sound? Where does it come from?_

_Thump, thump, thump._

_She felt for her heart. No, it was not her heartbeat. Something else, then, but what?_

_Thump._

_She almost jumped when the sound came from her flat stomach. She bent over, her hands pressing against her belly—_

* * *

—Nynaeve threw her eyes open. Had it not been that she was fairly certain they indeed were open, she would have believed she was still trapped in the realm of unconsciousness. Groaning, she lay eerily still on the cold…stone floor? Her heart leaped into a fast rhythm she almost had problem keeping up with as she groped around with her hands in confirmation. The soft skin, slightly calloused from years of being Wisdom and later a battling Aes Sedai, met only coarse, chilled rock, smooth enough to be a cell floor and not a cave. Not that there had been any caves near the camp… 

What had happened?

Nynaeve closed her eyes, though the darkness prevailed and the aches in her body lingered, even getting stronger and more painful. The children were kicking wildly inside her womb, protesting highly against…something. She groaned again. How long had she been here really? She could not remember, it must have been quite a blow to her head, if that was what had happened… What _did _she remember?

Lying in the…cell, was it?…Nynaeve struggled to get control of the spinning sensation created by the combination of never ending darkness and coldness spiced with memory loss. She brought her hands up to her swollen abdomen as she tried to move into a more comfortable position. Being on her back was usually the best lying position, but the rocky floor was gnawing on her bones and tearing at her muscles, and the shots of pain running up and down her spine did not help her at all.

Rolling over, she began to whisper lowly to her children, willing them to calm down. She needed strength and ability to think clearly and now she had neither. In the past her soothing words of comfort had bore little weight and impression, seeing as her mind had been so unbalanced with grief and the babes had reacted to that. But now she knew, for some reason yet out of reach of her foggy mind, that her grief was gone. And as she stroked her belly with long strokes of comfort in a pattern that seemed both unfamiliar and familiar to her, the children stilled their kicking. Nynaeve's brow knitted together. Why so quickly? It could not be just the grief having been spent, could it? No, it was something different…

It struck her then as if she had been hit by the Light from the Creator himself. The memorial, the snow, the Malkieri people, the Shadowspawn…Lan!

Her breath hitched, the memories swirling around in her head. She had been to his memorial, cried her last tears and finally gotten over her grief, and then suddenly later that night, he had showed up in her tent. At first, Nynaeve had believed he was Rhien, who had in reality died back in the Malkieri town, but then his cloak had been shed… And Lan stood there in all his glory, face sunken and graver than before, but still the same wonderful lines around the eyes, firm skin across his cheekbones and strong chin. In the brief second that had followed, she had seen his eyes lit up considerably before darkening again. He has said she was stunning, beautiful.

Tears threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. She remembered now. In those precious moments that had followed his revelation, her visions of the future had changed. From facing the challenging responsibility of ruling over a renewed Malkier with no previous experience of politics and the like, Nynaeve saw herself and Lan at the coronation being crowned as King and Queen. She envisioned their two sons growing up and then going through the King's Election before one of them became King. And perhaps there would even be a little sister tagging along, suddenly so old that she would have the opportunity to choose her own _car'neira_, no matter how much Nynaeve abhorred the tradition (even though it had made Lan an…excellent lover, not that she would ever admit that out loud).

Wiping the tears away, chiding herself for the weaknesses, Nynaeve found it was like a dam had broken down and the water just flowed freely. Every pent-up emotion since the Last Battle poured out, from mourning Lan, to Rand's blindness and lack of cure, the attack on Emond's Field by Cyndane and Slayer, Perrin's mysterious sleep, the revelation of the Malkieri rebellion, the meeting with the Borderland royals where she lay down her claim to the throne, and to the village of Lacha and the memorial at Lan's grave. And at last, reuniting with Lan only to be separated from him again.

She could not hold the tears at bay, finally relinquishing control and letting them run down her cheeks, ending up in a puddle underneath her face on the rocky ground while her body shook violently in racked sobs.

* * *

A while later, she was not aware how much time had passed in that lone, dark and humid cell, Nynaeve pushed herself up against the wall, hugging a moulded blanket she had found in a corner after a quick search. It had probably belonged to the previous holder of this cell. The room gave off the aura of a despaired soul, the walls bearing marks of his or her imprisonment. Blood had been shed here, judging on the dried flaks of something sticky that had stuck to her hands while crawling around the cell. 

Sitting up, groaning at the aches in her limbs (particularly the nasty bump on top of her head from the kidnapping earlier), she tried to calm the babes' vicious kicking while opening up to _saidar_. Except not even a shred of sweet life entered her body. So she was shielded. No surprise really. And it was a great shield, too strong for her to break out of. Her swollen eyes are itching, completely dried out after her crying session earlier. She sighs, feeling the despair lurk around in her stomach again.

_No, you've got to be strong, Nynaeve. Strong for the children, for Lan. He'll come. He'll rescue you. You'll just have to fend for yourself for a little while. Now where's that anger of yours, the spirit that have been lost these past seven months? Show some spine, girl._

Thinking back on it, Nynaeve knew it was true, what her inner voice was telling her. For the past months since the Battle, her old self had been turned into a moping, sipping cry-baby who barely showed any of the spirited fire that dwelled inside her. It had burst forth a few times, like when she heard of Rand's self-imposed exile from reality or when those ridiculous Yellows back in the Tower had had the audacity to think she was unable to do a simple Delve because of her pregnancy.

Feeling the flames rise in her cheeks, Nynaeve's hands fisted in the blanket around her and she gritted her teeth. One of the Yellows had even gone so far as to try and push her into one of the infirmary beds so that she would stay off her feet. Like she was a crippled, not a high-ranking Aes Sedai!

"The nerve…"

"Of whom?"

Nynaeve did not know she had spoken out loud before a voice and light broke through the darkness outside her cell. She snapped her head up, eyes widening when she spotted the origin of the question.

"Lanfear…" she growled, face drawn in a grimace.

The dark-haired woman stood tall and serenely outside the iron bars, embraced in the light of _saidar_ and a torch she hung up on the wall behind her. Long black tresses framed her ageless face, the white cape over her white low-cut dress reflecting the golden rays from the torch, making her look like an enigma instead of the very real human being that she was. Dark eyes were lit with pleasure, probably from the joy of holding Nynaeve captive, and the delicate lips were drawn in a sadistic smile.

Lanfear snapped her fingers, causing the lock of the cell to open. In open show of fear to defile her hands on the ages-old iron bars, she led threads of Air to the door and pushed it open. Nynaeve tested the shield, finding it still firmly in place. She gritted her teeth, releasing the hold on the blanket and pushing her hands back against the wall for support as she stood. It was a painful manoeuvre, almost bringing her back down on her knees as the pain seared up her spine and throughout the body.

"Oh please, allow me."

"Light burn you!" Nynaeve swore out through her clenched teeth, eyes squeezed shut as ragged pain burned her lower torso. She fell down to a knee, hands flying to her calf to support her weight. Sweat ran down her face, her body suddenly pulsating with warmth.

Lanfear laughed."Feisty, aren't we?" Being denied the will and anger to glare for so long, Nynaeve found it came back to her quite easily in this woman's company. She was breathing heavily from the pain and strain of keeping her body locked in its present position. "There's no point in struggling," Lanfear continued with a smirk. "You're in my hold now and you won't escape. That pitiful glare won't help you either." Shrugging her head, letting the long dark curls of her hair wash down on her shoulders, Lanfear sneered and came closer. The cape swirled in the flickering light, the white material almost dancing like the witches around the fires in stories of old. It bode ill.

Nynaeve glared with all her will, straining to get her body to respond to her needs. She had to get on her feet, on equal level with this woman. That the woman did not even hint at trying something while she was in that vulnerable position just made her angry, angrier than she had ever been before. It felt good, having the anger flow through her blood again, warming it until she was burning with the desire to defy whatever the fates threw at her. Gritting her teeth, Nynaeve pushed upwards, planting her feet solidly in the ground and leaning against the wall for support.

Suddenly she found she couldn't move at all. Her eyes flew open, straight at Lanfear or the Gwiddon as she was also called. Eyes fiery with sadistic delight, the woman was surrounded by the well-known illumination of _saidar_. Nynaeve looked down at herself, seeing the threads of Air as they formed and weaved into a strong blanket of bounds clutching her body snugly. Trapped. Like so many times before. Both body and mind at the mercy of a Forsaken, a wielder of the True Source which the Dark One had granted them when he existed.

"You know?" Lanfear stepped right up to her, face only inches from hers. She seemed to study Nynaeve intently, but without the curious nature of a scientist. It was rather the evil look of someone being out for her blood and wondering how to serve her, cooked or grilled. "I really can't see why that man fell in love with you, or even gave you the honour of having his babies. You're nothing but a foolish young girl who just happened to get the lucky shot at my Lord when he was at his weakest…"

Nynaeve found herself at loss of words. Then her blood boiled again, firing up like the flames of Hell in the driest of summers. _Burn her! _She ignored the pain, the vicious fluttering in her belly and the reasonable voice in the back of her, and tried to lunge at the other woman. Not one inch of the lady she had been training to be these last weeks was shown in the flashing of teeth and growl she let out. Just plain old angry Wisdom. "You fowl, sadistic—" Her rant was cut off as a ball of Air was stuffed into her mouth, much like the way she had stuffed Lan's mouth that time in Ebou Dar. She glared at the indifferent woman.

"Tut tut, _Lady_ Nynaeve," Lanfear spoke with a very pronounced amused tilt to her voice. "That's not very becoming of a future Queen, is it?" She smirked when Nynaeve just continued to glare, mouth wide open like a ridiculous frog in the middle of a croak, twitching in the bonds of _saidar_.

The dark-haired Forsaken took a step back, her cape catching shadows when turned from the torch light outside the cell. It reminded Nynaeve of what side the woman belonged to. She might dress up all in white and seem ethereal, but on the inside she is as dark as the blackest of nights. The Daughter of the Night, some called her, the forlorn love interest of Lews Therin Telamond, left in the dark as he pursued his life with the loving Ilyena. She stopped struggling, suddenly conscious of the wild kick into the walls of her uterus. The children were upset because she was.

_You've got to calm down, think of the children._

"So what's the plan for me, _Gwiddon_? Planning to submit me to Compulsion and make me attack the Lord Dragon Reborn and the Grey Tower like you had Lan attack me?" Inside, Nynaeve reacted to the harsh way she spoke and to the words she said. _Can't believe I'm actually willingly calling him that when I've refused for so long to call him nothing but Rand al'Thor, the dimwitted farmer from Two Rivers who set out to the World to conquer it. But Light! The things she made Lan do... _As if shaking her out of the thought, Nynaeve turned her eyes on Lanfear, for the first time seeing a spark of emotion other than evil delight.

Anger. The Forsaken was reeking with it, her eyes livid and nostrils flaring as she still somehow kept her calm and grace. "You foiled the plan and return of the Great Lord and have the courage to ask what role you will play in this play of revenge! Foolish woman! You cannot even begin to imagine what I will do to you." Lanfear was only an inch from her nose, dark eyes boring into hers as Nynaeve half-shivered from the intensity of her glare. Mustering whatever anger and foolhardy courage she had left, she raise her chin up high and glared straight back. Lanfear barred her teeth, her once beautiful face drawn in an ugly grimace.

"You dare to face me with that heart, knowing what I am capable of, knowing what _we_ are capable of."

Nynaeve's eyes widened and her glare dropped. _'We'? Could it be true then, that someone greater than Lanfear is still alive and her master, like Egwene suspected back when Slayer was killed. The puppeteer, playing the strings of those he commands to do his bidding._ She was drawn out by Lanfear's continued speech, like she had not noticed Nynaeve's mind-wandering or just did not care. The woman was still smoking hot, red starting to tint her unmarred cheeks, ranting off.

"—With His demise, I am nothing; I have nothing to live for. Wehave nothing now, only our greatest desire: revenge! For killing the Great Lord, you shall die, el'Nynaeve Mandragoran! And that damned Lews Therin as well!" The statement was followed by deathly silence. Only the slight huffs from Lanfear, the flickering of the torch and the rubbing of cloth resounded in the murky cell. The light played theatre on the faces of both women, shadows dancing back and forth across their features, fighting for domination.

Lanfear took a small breath, regaining her composure and graceful appearance. Her eyes took on the evil glint again as she spoke. "We were actually planning to terminate you during the Battle, before the Great Lord entered the stage. Moghedien was even granted the honours of doing so, given your previous encounters. She would use our Master's _ter'angreal_ to cut the Bond between you and your Warder, and draw you away from the battlefield for a fight to the death."

She was sure she had stopped breathing. A _ter'angreal_ was the reason the bond between her and Lan snapped on the day of Tarmon Gai'don! He had not been killed, like she had been led to believe. He had been alive!

"Unfortunately," Lanfear continued, "She couldn't fulfil her obligations and you escaped to assist the Dragon Reborn in killing the Great Lord. So in the ashes of the Battle, my Master made a plan. We kidnapped your husband and turned him to do our bidding. He was the key to you and you the key to the Dragon Reborn. It was easy really; men can hardly resist the strong will of my Master's Compulsion." With this, the black-haired Forsaken leered openly, the shadows on her face flickering wildly and making her seem like a demon.

The mention of Lan made Nynaeve's blood flash hot again, flaring up and coating her skin with sweat. What Lan had gone through, what _she_ had gone through since the Battle… It was all due to this woman and her master!

Nynaeve pushed against the bonds and the shield that cut her away from the Power, desperate to have revenge for all the troubles Lanfear had put Lan through. Her eyes flashed with anger, the torch light danced on her face, the shadows retreating away from her features. But to no avail. She was as stuck as she had been all the time in this woman's presence. The children had stopped kicking for some reason, perhaps noticing the sudden drop of temperature and increase of tension in the air.

Her face returning to neautral expression, Lanfear stepped close to Nynaeve again, watching the play of shadows and fire with a small amount of amusement. "Unfortunately, _milady_, your demise will have to wait. There's someone missing for the show. But he's been notified. He'll come." _Rand, she's speaking of Rand!_ Nynaeve's stomach dropped like another stone pound had been dropped in it. She froze in her struggling when Lanfear grinned suddenly. "But I **will** give you a parting gift…"

Bringing her hands close to Nynaeve's swollen belly, she laid them down and grasped her flesh tightly, nails digging into her skin underneath the thick travelling dress she wore. _No, she can't be..._ Lanfear proceeded to weave something Nynaeve had never seen before, but which reminded her of Delving. The threads of Air, Spirit and Earth wove together and flowed slowly into the lower region of her stomach. She could do nothing but stare, frozen in place with the bonds and her mouth wide open as her mind began to comprehend what the other woman was doing.

With a soundless snap, pain racked her body and Nynaeve would have screamed out loud had she been able to. It rose up in intensity and places of origin as the bonds were released and Lanfear stepped back. Nynaeve hunched over, falling first to her knees before rolling over and huddling together into a ball, clutching her belly and finally releasing the ear-splitting cry from the bottom of her soul.

She did not notice the bars closing again.

She did not notice the light fading as footsteps moved away from her cell.

Nynaeve had no thought beyond one thing as the pain concentrated in the lower part of her torso, back and front:

_The Light shine on me! I cannot give birth, not **now**! It's too early!_

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

* * *

**Author's notes:**_ So what do you guys say? I know it's a bit short, but is it still worthy of a R-E-V-I-E-W? I hope to have satisfied you for awhile (even if I left you at a horrible cliffy!), so that I can finish the second part of this chapter in peace and quiet. I think there'll only be two more chapters. Hopefully. See ya'll!_

**P.S. (!!!!!)**_  
_

**Anyway, I have a couple of things to mention about the story, just to make some things clear for you guys (in case you were nagging your brain about it!):**

**(1)** Lanfear, the Gwiddon, Selene and Cyndane are the same person. The woeful woman jealous of Lews Therin's preference in Ilyena.

**(2)** Moridin and Ismodean are the same person, the man meeting with Lews Therin after his rage attack.

**(3)** Following the Knife of Dreams, I realise Nynaeve's whole name has been misspelled during the entire story. Her actual name is Nynaeve ti al'Meara Mandragoran, or something like that. :) But because of the magnitude of this story, I will not go back and change her name. So just bear with me.

**(4)** I know Lan said some things in last chapter that people have reacted to, like the "I have killed a lot of people to get here"-statement. In my defence, I have to say that this is merely a fact, because Lan has killed a lot of people, both of his own accord and under influence. For the record, I have to point out that Lan did not enjoy it one bit. If you (whoever the reviewer was) think back on the flashbacks of "Rhien"/Lan, then you will realise he did not enjoy the killings. That is all.


	16. Chapter 15: and Release

_**Disclaimers:** I do not own Wheel of Time, neither the characters nor items related to it. Though the babies are mine! And any other character you don't recognise. They all, unfortunately, belong to Robert Jordan._

_**Author's Note:** Phew! 19,500 words and 40 pages done in Verdana, size 11 – I'm practically wiped out! But it's totally worth it. I've been really slow in getting this last installment written out, probably paining my dear and faithful readers as well, so I thought I'd do an exclusive last chapter filled with action and mushiness. Well, I will bother no more and just say: On with the story!_

* * *

**I Will Find You**

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN - …and Release**  
_by neela_

* * *

_Whitefennel_ – helps with difficult childbirths 

PART TWO

Cold, wet snow met her as Egwene tumbled out of the lit-up Gate, leaving the bloodshed in the Blight behind her. A few curious eyes followed her through from the other side, watching her as she turned around and shut off her connection to _saidar_. She brought the back of her hand to wipe off blood and sweat from her face, sighing deeply as the wounds on her body throbbed uncomfortably now that adrenaline no longer clouded her sense of pain.

They were only flesh wounds, nothing too seriously as she'd told her two overprotective guardians back in the camp, but they still slowly drained her strength; it was all she could do to stay on two feet and focus properly on the blindingly white snow in front of her. She winced, squinting around to see if she had hit the target correctly. When physically drained, Egwene knew one could make a mistake when Travelling. To her good fortune, however, she found herself in the Amyrlin's Gardens to the back of the Grey Tower.

_At least I hit the spot. Now I just have got to find the door._

Trudging through the ankle-deep snow, ignoring as best as she could the ache in her body, Egwene bent under low apple tree branches, stepped around sleeping rose bushes and crossed the small frozen stream inlaid between the trees and bushes. Fingers burning with the marks of cold, she rubbed them against her arms in an attempt of easing the pain off. But it was futile, really, only worsening the aches in her limbs from clotted wounds and seemingly making it harder for her to put one foot ahead the other.

Leaning heavily against the trunk of a plum tree, Egwene wheezed rapidly, trying to regain her breath and strength. For what must be the hundredth time in her life since joining the Aes Sedai, she wished that they were able to Heal themselves instead of relying on others. She could have given relief to her tired body right now and bounced up the stairs until she found her Keeper of Chronicles.

Egwene took a deep breath and steeled herself for another trip through the snow. Gazing behind her, she saw blood drops following the track from where she had come. Cursing, she drew her cloak tighter and continued through the organised undergrowth. The cold air pressed down her throat and into her lungs, making shivers run down her back and up again. It was uncomfortable and a waste of energy leaving camp without Healing, she admitted to herself, but forced her mind away from such thoughts. It would do her much less to wallow in self-pity than fighting onwards. Not to mention the fact that she was far better off than the one she was going to the Grey Tower for—Nynaeve.

For a moment she let herself despair again for the woman who had once been her mentor and close friend, now laying captured in the hands of a ruthless and cold manipulating witch. Lanfear would pay dearly for this, as well as the other person behind this plot. Egwene was sure of it now that someone else was in lead with the Forsaken. Someone powerful. But she just couldn't figure out whom. Hopefully, Beldaere could shed some light on this business.

Once she managed to climb the stairs and find him.

Coming to a halt, Egwene breathed heavily and tried to keep her wobbling feet from collapsing. Raising her chin, she looked up at the big building stretching up above her, far into the sky. Taller than any other construction in the lands west of the Aiel Waste, as far as she knew. Some said the two large Choedan Kals were higher, but Egwene doubted it. Standing next to the mighty Grey Tower, anything else seemed diminished, insignificant. A touch of pride struck her, making her lips twitch a little, but she put it off quickly. She had other things to do than lose her head in pile of white stone.

Stepping toward the vines climbing up the slightly rounded stonewall, Egwene opened herself up for _saidar _to flow through her, enriching and enchantingly desired. She closed her eyes in concentration, calling forth the elements to weave together in a seal. Pushing the seal towards the wall, sounds of crawling vines brought her out of her focus. Egwene opened her eyes, watching as the vines retreated to reveal the markings of a man-sized door blending in with the colours of the wall.

Deciding to save her physical strength for what awaited beyond the door, Egwene gathered Air to grasp the handle and haul open the door. It swung open with a low, growling roar. She released the weave and trudged through the last metres of snow to the entrance. Turning, she let Air wash away the traces in the snow, covering her tracks. No need to reveal a hidden door to outsiders. She closed the door behind her with the same seal as before and shifted her weight to face the darkness inside.

After a moment, the darkness fled in favour of the blue-white flame rising from Egwene's palm, exposing the murky room to her scrutiny. A small spacey room with no special items lining the walls or hanging under the beams amongst the cobwebs. The stairs were lit up in a corner, winding up circularly along the smooth stone. The boards were old, worn and some even dangerous to tread upon, but she had walked her far enough times to know when to skip a step or two. According to Siuan, who had been to visit quite often after her marriage to Gareth Bryne, these stairs and this entrance had been in the Tower for hundreds of years, dating almost as far back as to Arthur Hawkwing. But of course, the wooden boards had been changed many times since then. Last time had been just a few decades ago.

Nonetheless, Egwene was planning to have them replaced at her earliest convenience by a few trusted servants who wouldn't go mouthing-off to the different Ajahs. No point in having everyone clambering through the Amyrlin's secret passageways.

Walking across the room, she looked upon the stairs as though they would be the death of her. Which was quite possible they would. Egwene shuddered with that thought. Only a few things should claim her life, among them battle and age. However, dying by age in her situation could be very boring. To live past six-hundred years... She would prefer a straight battle.

_But not the last one. There's still much to do. Lanfear is still loose, along with her companion, and they have Nynaeve. You've got to help her, Egwene. So get to it._

She rose her head to gaze up towards the seemingly far-distant ending ledge that would lead into her study. Though the stairs led all the way up to her apartments, Egwene thought she would have more luck finding Beldaere in his study than elsewhere.

Sighing deeply, Egwene raised her foot and put it on the first step.

* * *

Sweat ran down Nynaeve's face as she braced herself against the wall when another contraction ripped through her body, her feet shaking heavily where she stood. Sitting up or lying on her back would not help her in this situation. Only lying on her side, standing or walking would help ease the contractions, which were coming faster and faster, with little time apart. Her water had broken some time ago, making the ground beneath her wet and sticky. Luckily, no blood traces could be found. They could come through this alive. 

Premature births had not been unheard of; in fact, Nynaeve had witnessed quite a lot of them since her apprenticeship to Wisdom. Especially multiple births had that particular outcome. She had guessed it was because of the fact a female human's body can only take so much. Elayne's children had been born early, yet only with a couple of weeks. Nynaeve still had a month left until term. It made her think of those fateful few times when things had not worked out, either for the mother or the children.

_You've got to focus, girl. You're a Wisdom _and_ a Yellow Aes Sedai of the Grey Tower. You've got experience other could long for in this situation. _

'_But I have no whitefennel. And the pain...'_

_Grind you teeth together and get in business. There's no one here to help you. You've got only yourself to trust now._

That fact made tears come to her eyes, mixing with the salty sweat pouring out of her forehead. She was totally alone. Lan was somewhere far away in the world. Egwene was with him. Nobody knew where she was, except... Lan, perhaps, if he remembered where he was held captive all those months. He might even have been in this very cell.

The thought was comforting, somehow. Knowing that, within these four walls and upon the stony ground, had a calming effect on Nynaeve. Her eyesight cleared, the blurriness diminishing as she watched the opposite wall where she found old signs of shackles having been attached there. A tranquillity filled her, even in her pain. She took a deep breath, in through her nose and out past her lips, and released the grip of one of her hands.

Nynaeve stared at the hand, or more precisely the two fingers she held up. She needed to know how far the opening was, how far away or near the impending birth was. Closing her eyes and breathing evenly, albeit heavily, she reached under her skirt, somehow navigating around the large belly and finding her destination.

Drawing the hand up again, careful to not twitch her fingers even a twitter, Nynaeve opened her eyes and stared. Six centimetres. Past half of the optimal opening. When it reached ten centimetres, it would start. She calculated the time on her hands. Active phase post-ten centimetres was between three to five hours, with thirty minutes to an hour of active pushing. She had absolutely no idea how long it was until she came as far as to the active phase, but Nynaeve reckoned it couldn't be that long. An hour or two, perhaps even less.

Her eyes travelled to the other wall, imagining the solid form of Lan sitting right there, staring at her with that small smile of his. Another wave of pain was heading her way again and Nynaeve gritted her teeth as the imagined Lan smiled again before blurring away.

Crying out, she reached out to the place in her mind where the small bundle of emotions had once been before Moghedien's ter'angreal had ripped it apart.

_Lan... I need you..._

* * *

Lan's head whipped up so fast he almost twisted the muscles in his neck. A stab of pain had just ripped through him, not strong but neither was it weak. It did not feel like one of his wounds had ripped open again, which had been Healed a while ago by one of the Aes Sedai. The pain had come from his head and travelled down to his abdomen. 

_Could it be...?_

He focused his mind, concentrating it around the small spot in his mind where had once been occupied by three different bundles of emotions. Only a ghost trailing of distant sensations were left now. Nothing strong, nothing solid. His chest heaved slightly with the knowledge. The Bond they'd shared was really gone, even though he had felt those small feelings before. When he'd broken loose of his prison, escaping Lancer's clutches; In the cell after the Battle when he had been between two worlds of different minds, slowly undergoing the Compulsion that eventually made him believe he was Rhien t´Aldar.

And then in Edmond's Field, during the Trolloc attack when he snuck into the town to fulfil his revenge, no, Rhien´s revenge. It was still difficult to separate the two minds sometimes, the lingering memories and beliefs from Rhien floating around in his unconsciousness. But even under that strong Compulsion, he had somehow maintained a small piece of himself. Like watching through a mirror at the people as the other him did things he would never have done. Extracting information from the thief master Damien in Tar Valon just to kill him afterwards; Waiting for a woman he thought was her saviour but was in reality Lanfear in disguise; Killing the Aes Sedai the Tower had sent after him and Lanfear...

That was one of the things he regretted the most, second only to the attack on the young Lord of Edmond's Field and the sheepherder's surrogate father, and the consequential attack on Nynaeve. Seeing her there, through the eyes that were his and yet not, standing off to the side covered in a cloak and waiting for the moment to escape. Feeling the heat of anger rise within his chest as his second personality overcame him and wanted to kill her. But the bulge under her cloak, protruding through the opening like she was already to full term, swollen with his babies – Lan´s babies, not Rhien´s...

It had been the thing he needed to fight more strongly against the Compulsion. His cousin Isam and Lanfear could probably confirm that, seeing as they needed to club him down and take him back to imprisonment after the attack on Two Rivers. Imprisonment in a place he could half-remember and had half-forgotten, a place he was currently trying to bring back to his memories.

Yet that frightened look on Nynaeve´s face as he struck down Perrin and Tam... It broke his heart still. Lan wondered how he could ever dare to face her again. He shouldn't even have come here, trying to seek her forgiveness. It had only brought Lanfear after them, resulting in his beautiful, once fiery wife sitting somewhere in a cell like a captive. And very close to birth...

He hoped the ghost of emotion he had felt just a moment ago was nothing more than that – just a ghost. That Lanfear had not done anything to harm Nynaeve or the babies. His sons. The future of his birth land and nation. The last in the line of Malkieri kings.

And he had no idea where they were.

* * *

Egwene plumped down on the stair, leaning her head against the wall, exposing her blood-clotted neck to the crisp cold. Her skin was burning, her airways raw from breathing beyond her capability. Dark brown tendrils fell across her sweaty face, unwinding from the delicate twist of hair at the back of her head. The fire from a nearby torch gave a warm glow off the walls and her clothes, but gazing at the bloodstains through half-lidded eyes, she saw it only made the wounds look grotesque. 

She was just past the halfway point in the never-ending staircase winding up through a secret section of the Tower, which explained the occasional torches. There were access doors to the servants' secret corridors here and there giving the Amyrlin the possibility to move throughout the Tower without being detected. Of course, the only one who could possibly know she was here at present, with the exception of those who might have spotted her arrival through the Gate, would be Gawyn. Already now she could sense that he was nearby. Not in the Tower itself, but in the city. He was focused, so Egwene guessed he was training.

_I almost wish I could have him here now. He could carry me the rest of the way, then get Beldaere to have my wounds treated._

She could remember the day they had Bonded. It was only days after the Battle. In the midst of cleaning up the decaying bodies in a horrible heat, trying their best to make sure the bodies didn't rot before burial, he had found her hauling a charcoal-blackened body still trapped in the confines of armour. The markings were still visible, even after the fire that had obviously had its way with it. It had been all she could take to keep her sanity.

No one else had been allowed to take this burden off her shoulders, even though many had offered. She'd chased them all away. Nynaeve had left only the day before, so Egwene took it upon herself to make sure that her mentor's husband got the dignity and honour he deserved. He would receive a proper burial, even if Egwene would have trace down every Borderlander to see if they had an ounce of knowledge of Malkier. So far she had been unlucky, but there was still time. She had Beldaere on the case.

And then Gawyn had turned up, just as she managed to grasp whatever strength she had left to embrace _saidar_ and lift the body up with Air. She deposited the body on a stretcher strapped behind a horse, giving sign to the lanky man in Tar Valon crest to take the body away from here and the defiled Shadowspawn carcasses that surrounded them. She managed to stay on her feet until the horse turned a corner around a tent in the distance before she lost control of _saidar_ and fell backwards, prepared to hit ground. But Gawyn reached her first, catching her in his arms.

It had been the safest place she had ever been in history. And nicest-smelling. Grime and sweat was mingling with the stench of sulphur and other vile stenches, but through it all was _his_ scent. The personal scent of delicious sandalwood and dusk.

They had talked about this battle, the horrible things that had happened and the gruesome aftermath. He had asked about the body and she couldn't hold the tears back. In his arms she fell again and shed those tears for all who died and for she who lived. He has said some comforting words and then kissed her.

First kiss in quite some time. She relished it, released her tension within it. And then let go. Dark orbs met blue, brown tendrils mixing with reddish-golden hair. They savoured the moment before the aftermath called them back again.

She asked him to become her Warder. He understood what she really asked and said yes. That night had been the first of many glorious nights.

Egwene smiled faintly at the memory, wheezing and wishing she had a large glass of water to undo the dry spell on her throat. Head throbbing and body aching, it was steadily harder to climb the rest of the way up, but she had to. Grasping a protruding crack in the wall, she pulled herself to her feet, groaning at the strain her muscles were going through. It was only some hundred more stairs. She could do it.

She had hardly taken a step when a noise reached her ears. She froze, half-questioning whether she should shut off the connection to _saidar_ and let the blue-white flame die. But for some reason she stopped herself from doing it. The _pitter-patter _that was coming closer and closer from somewhere above her sounded familiar. Too familiar.

"Mother?" The deep baritone broke through the silence as the footsteps stopped a few stories up. Egwene stepped closer to the middle, gazing up through the darkness toward the other blue-white light further up. Even without the torch a little down from the silhouette, she would have recognised it everywhere. She let out a breath she was half-aware of holding.

"Yes, it's me, Beldaere." The confirmation carried faster through the air than it did to her brain. With him here, that meant her wounds could finally get some relief. Thank the Light! "Hurry down here, I need help."

If it was her declaration of needing help at all or the urging in her voice, Egwene didn't know, but before she knew it, Beldaere was already rounding the last turn and stepping quickly down before her. His handsome features beneath a dark mop of hair, which hadn't changed any with the exception of a few worry lines upon his forehead since her departure, took in her state and were beside her in a flash.

"Light, what has happened? Did my message from Fal Dara come too late?" He urged her to sit down so he could examine her wounds and Egwene didn't complain.

"Both yes and no. Haydar did make an attempt, but only after Lanfear and her legion of Shadowspawn attacked the camp. Lady Nynaeve was kidnapped." She winced as Beldaere poked rather harshly at one of her wounds, his eyes both apologetic and shocked when they met hers. This was really bad news for a Borderlander and hailer for the Malkieri renewal; the future of the country lost to the hands of the enemy to do what they'd like. Not to mention she was a Heroine of the Age.

"The Gwiddon got the Awres? How did she find you? I thought you were taking all precautions of secrecy?"

"She must have very good sources, or else she might have just followed L—" Egwene stopped abruptly, a sudden clarity surging through her fogged mind. A piece of the puzzle that had bugged her since its uncovering. Beldaere looked up at her, his concentration split between her lack of continuation and her wounds.

Egwene had just remembered Beldaere's fierce devotion to Lan and their conversation in her office some months ago. When one of the Novices had come with a Foretelling in the kitchen during penance.

_The chain is broken. The Crane can fly again._

She suddenly realized it had come true. Although it was two possible events, Egwene was sure it had less to do with the Rebellion than it had with Lan's coming back from the abyss. She would have to think about keeping the Novice close by, lest people like Romanda Sedai and Lelaine Sedai make their claim on her.

"Egwene?" Beldaere's voice broke through her mental image of the two Sitters circling the poor Novice sitting on a stool, spouting off guidelines to follow to every dot and line. She looked at him, seeing him starting to worry even more about her. Probably thinking she has a concussion or something and believing she'll fall off her seat any second now.

"I'm sorry, Beldaere, I fell out a moment. I just began to think about that Foretelling we dealt with a while back."

"I remember, the one with that cute little Novice, right?" Egwene rolled her eyes at his bachelor travesties. At least those made him worry less about her. "Which we believed might be concerning the Malkieri Rebellion."

"Or al'Lan Mandragoran," she reminded him quietly, studying his features to see his reaction. It confused him at first, why she brought up this in the middle of his enquiring of past events, when she saw understanding dawned on his face. His mouth formed an uncharacteristic 'o' and his hands froze over her leg.

"He's alive?" His voice was incredulous, almost worried that she might be joking with him. As if she would in a situation like this. "But how? When?"

"He turned up last night, apparently, in Nynaeve's tent. She confirmed it was him, despite my reservations he might be a con. Turin and Hal said he was no male channeler, nor was he a female in disguise, as disgusting as that sounds." Egwene thought back to the time in Rebel Aes Sedai camp, when one of the male Forsaken had posed as a female Aes Sedai. "After the recent events," she continued, "I am inclined to agree."

Beldaere bit his lip, a gesture that showed he was in deep thought. Obviously mulling things over, perhaps comparing them to what they knew and what he might have found out since her leaving the Tower for Shienar. In the end he half-nodded to himself and gave her a small smile before continuing his examination.

"That is good news," he said simply. A sudden chill went through her, signaling that Beldaere was through with the examination and was beginning the Healing process. His brows knitted in concentration.

Egwene was silent for a moment, thinking. Though she really wanted to rush off and get Nynaeve back, there was really no point in doing it should she fall off her feet just seconds into the battle that most certainly would take place. They would need to make a plan. At least once they knew where Lanfear and her companion were keeping her.

"Have you made any headway on Lanfear's lair?" she asked. "Any clues at all would be nice."

"Not much, I'm afraid," Beldaere sighed, moving his hands to another spot to Heal it. Steam rose from the closing wound in the half-light created by the torch beneath them as his fingers moved invisible, to Egwene's eyes, threads. "The eyes-and-ears network has been strangely silent. Whatever leads might have come up have all turned to smoke in the end.

"I even had one report claiming an Ogier said they were near the old Yontiang stedding, only to find out the Ogier was an elder who couldn't remember making the statement at all." He shook his head. "But I do know they are somewhere near the Aiel Waste."

"The Spine of the World stretches for a great distance," Egwene pointed out, sighing in defeat. That meant she would have to trust Lan to remember where he has been help captive. A great pressure, or perhaps not so great, considering what he had been going through these past seven months. If she had to guess, Egwene would say Lan had some issues to deal with regarding Nynaeve. Playing polar opposite of what he really was... It must be hard to carry that Compulsion and its consequences on his shoulders.

She felt like crying, suddenly. Sitting here in the Amyrlin's secret stairway, having the luxury of safety and security the Tower was offering... Somewhere her old mentor was in a completely different situation. Perhaps the strain of all those uncertainties were damaging on the pregnancy as well. Egwene could remember back to her apprentice days when she'd once overseen a birth being a month early because the mother had been in involved in a barn accident. Luckily things had gone smoothly that time, but Nynaeve did not have the help of others right now, only the enmity of her captors.

_Maybe they've even killed her. No, that's ridiculous. They need her alive. She's their closest link to Rand at the moment. Their revenge won't be complete until they have both._

Coming to a resolution, Egwene steeled herself and told Beldaere gravely, "We need to make a plan."

* * *

The town was bustling with activity, in organised chaotic discipline as the news of the recently elected Queen being kidnapped reached them. Despite most of the villagers coming to rebuild Malkier in the ways of the common man, like agriculture, it was clear to any eye that these people were also formerly soldiers. Any man or woman of Malkieri decent who upheld their nation's customs would know how to wield a sword or bow. 

Now the people, old and young, were digging forth battle armours from old caskets, lances and swords from attics, arrows from the blacksmith gathered in quivers, new threads strung on bows. The news had come with the Aes Sedai party a little more than an hour ago; already the horses were saddled and ready.

Lan felt something akin to pride as he watched them bustle around from afar, standing behind the corner of a house at the outskirts. The houses here, he noted, were like any other house elsewhere along the Borderlands, one of the many things the countries had in common. High steeped roofs with eaves almost down to the ground made sure the snow in winter would not weigh down the house and collapse.

Speaking of which, snowflakes had softly begun their descent towards the white ground. It was the first snowfall since his breakout from Lanfear's lair. He tipped his head back, certain that he would not be seen from the people down the main street, savouring the feel of flakes landing on his forehead and melting. It had been so long...

His long hair had been combed and fell across his shoulders, but he had not yet tied the _hadori_ around his head. Glancing at the town before him reminded him of why. Not that he'd need reminding. It was already hard to forget the guilt running through his veins like blood. Nourishing it was hardly difficult, even though somewhere he could hear a feminine voice telling him what a thick headed fool he was. In some ways he agreed, but there was something in him that could not accept his old skin again until he was redeemed. Only one could do that.

The two male Aes Sedai companying the Amyrlin, posing as Tar Valon guards, were the only people at this moment that knew who Lan was. They had brought him a change of clothes and even offered him a sword, which Lan politely declined. Then they helped him stay away from curious eyes when the Malkieri reinforcements had come to their camp. When they came back to town, where Lan would have to abandon his hood because of the Borderland laws, he had quietly snuck away and out of view, watching from a distance as Turin Sedai and Hal Sedai brought the unconscious Haydar to imprisonment.

There had been a sort of awed expression on their faces, as they knew who he was. Lan had been used to it before, but now it bothered him. So he escaped from view. The people in this village would most certainly flip if they knew their dead Uncrowned King was alive and kicking. He wanted to avoid that. Just in case...

_Just in case Nynaeve's dead._

Lan shook his head, willing the thoughts away from his mind. He could not think about that possibility, even though it was now almost half a day of daylight since Nynaeve was kidnapped. The Amyrlin had left for the Tower some hours ago, due back any minute. And he had been given the unofficial task of locating Nynaeve.

Only he couldn't remember.

There was a big block on his memory, fogging over the place he'd been kept captive and the people there. He couldn't even recall if a whole army was situated there. Once they figured the location they might be heading straight into an ambush.

What _had _come to mind, though, was an old memory from the Aiel War when he'd fought together with Bukama and had barely hit his twenties. Their little unit had been sitting around the oil stove somewhere in the Kinslayer's Dagger on their way to the Spine of the World, having a clear view of everything west and south of them.

It had been cold and the moon was clear. Armours shone silver in the eerie light. Earlier that day he'd thought he'd seen an Ogier, to Bukama's great amusement. Apparently, there were no steddings so far north, not since the Trolloc Wars. At that time there had been one called Yontiang, but there was no sign of it now. Of course, many Ogiers were excellent to hide their steddings, but Bukama had been sure there wasn't one anymore. It had been abandoned. The other men had amused themselves as well and Lan had taken the brunt of it with his usual stoicism.

Sighing, he tipped his head back again for the soft flakes of snow to fall on his face. The memory was silly, worthless. He couldn't remember being anywhere near that place under his escape. Lan's eyes snapped up and he started heading back and further away from the houses. Studying the wind for direction, he started heading towards the dunes behind town. There was a place he had to visit.

Turning a corner, Lan drew his cloak around him as the wind caught up, consciously aware how his body reacted to the climate around him. Spending months in captivity with little food and comfort, his body had been gradually degraded, now not as used to the Northern cold as before. He had lost several pounds of weight, at least. Nynaeve would have a fit.

Lan came to a halt, realising he'd arrived at the location. He looked around to orientate himself and half-nodded firmly when he saw he was right. Bending down, he brought a glove-covered hand to brush away the layer of snow to reveal a small, flat stone.

**Here lies the final resting of Rhien t'Aldar. May the Light of the Mother embrace him.**

It had been ordered by Nynaeve to give this sorrowful man a grave with honour. He had been mislaid in life, she'd said, according to Hal Sedai, and deserved in death what he couldn't gain in life.

_Even though he tried to kill her twice. Thrice if you count the time I met her in Two Rivers wearing his face and hatred on my sleeve. _

Lan doubted he could forgive Rhien like Nynaeve had, seeing as he'd almost lost her that time in Tar Valon. Not to mention by his own hand in this man's name. Threatening his wife's life was not something he looked upon lightly; in fact he often saw it with a sting of a sword.

He sat down on his knees, balancing on the balls of his heels. A hand went automatically to adjust the sword on his side when bells rung in his head and reminded him there was no such thing there. Lan gave a half-sigh, closing his eyes. This was useless. He wished he had his sword, his _real _sword.

_But that was lost along with everything else in the Battle. I doubt you will see it again. If the Shadowspawn didn't get it, scavengers would have. _

"Milord?"

The voice broke through his train of thought, surprising him. Lan swung up, his face set as he forced calm into his person. No one used to catch him off-guard before. Well, Nynaeve could sometimes, but there were few others. Just another clue of what he had lost since the Battle.

The honorary title threw him a little off-guard as well. He did not deserve it. But it would do little good to point it out.

It was the Amadician Aes Sedai, Turin. His lanky form was standing in some sort of half-salute, his fist touching his hilt and then heart in the formal Borderland greeting. Long blonde hair spilled across his chest, standing out across the dark background of nearby houses in the waning light. Lan returned the greeting, feeling a sense of structure return to him as he did so.

"Peace and the Light favour you and your sword, Turin Sedai. To what assistance may I be?" The familiar words passed his lips as if it was yesterday's lesson from Bukama. Lan was pleased.

"The Amyrlin has returned and asks for your presence. She assured that it would be kept in quiet if Milord preferred. Otherwise a public meeting with the leaders can be arranged."

So Egwene had come back from the Tower. Just before the nick of darkness too. Lan turned, gesturing for the Amadician to lead the way. He would have to trust him as he had done all day. "Show me to her. I will see her in private, if it pleases the Mother, may the Light illumine her name."

Turin Sedai nodded curtly, stepping aside to give Lan an inkling of where they were going, before turning and beginning to walk.

* * *

When Lan stepped through the door to the little alcove Hal had found for their little private meeting, Egwene gazed at him with apprehension, unconsciously smoothing her skirts. Turin stood close to the door against the wall, his duty shifting from messenger to guard. 

Candles had been lit on the walls and on the long table moved in here for the occasion, giving off a soft glow to the room. The fire was crackling softly in the corner of the room. The warmth was building up, to which Egwene was grateful. She had forgotten how cold Borderland winters could be.

Stepping toward him, Egwene halted when he did the formal bow with continuing touch of invisible hilt and heart. "Peace favour you tonight, Mother."

"May the Light embrace you, Lord Mandragoran." She saw his fingers twitch ever so slightly at the title, mentally telling herself he would have to get used to it and more once he was crowned. Since the visit to the Tower, Egwene felt a rekindled hope and faith fill her. They would find Nynaeve and everything would be all right.

"Please be seated," she gestured to one of the chairs by the table, sitting down in as well, adjusting the stole around her shoulders as she did so. Her thoughts went back to her trip to the Tower, to Beldaere and his preparing the armies for transfer up North. They would arrive in approximately one hour, which meant she would have to have a destination ready unless they wanted to be stuck here for days or weeks.

"I hope you have found out something," Egwene spoke, allowing a tint of weariness enter her voice. Even with the Healing, bath and change of clothes back at the Tower, she still felt pretty wiped out. At least her connection to _saidar_ was stronger again.

Taking just a glance at Lan's usually stone face, she noted at once the dubious twitching at the corners of his eyes. Not a very good chance then.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Lan said quietly. Was there regret she heard in his voice? He stared at her for a moment, almost hesitating. "All that have come up is an old memory from the Aiel War. Nothing related to my captivity. I'm afraid Lanfear has covered her tracks well."

Egwene sighed, almost giving in to the temptation of rubbing her face in her hands. She gazed at the table where a map of the Spine of the World had been laid forth, magnified to include all the little details the normal world map did not show.

Back in the Tower, she had looked up the little Ogier stedding Beldaere had mentioned and what little information they owned about it. Abandoned after the Trolloc Wars and then inhabited again after the Aiel Wars. The elder Ogier who'd forgotten his statement was one of the first to come back there and had decided to keep the stedding hidden for the general eyes. Thank the Light for Loial and his small favours.

"Mother?" Lan's question drew her out of her thoughts. She realised she'd missed it completely while lost in thought.

"Sorry?"

"I asked if you brought news from the Tower."

Egwene felt her face warm with embarrassment, quickly hiding it by adjusting her stole and smoothing her skirts. "A bit, actually. Lord Perrin have awoken from his mysterious sleep induced by his injuries from the Emond's Field battle." At this, Lan's eyes widened by a marginal hair's breadth. A residue of guilt flashed through his eyes.

"Do not worry," she continued, giving a half-smile, "He can confirm you are whom you say. Although confused, he can swear to have seen the Illusion on you fall away during the sword fight between you two. And he holds no grudge towards you," Egwene added as an afterthought. Did she just imagine it or did she actually see Lan's shoulders sag a little more? The man in front of her was still as mysterious as when she'd first met him.

"That is good news, thank you." If physical relief did not surprise Egwene, Lan's statement was. He half-smirked. "It was at that time my conscious self began to gain control, only it did not fully do so until Nynaeve ate that dreaded weed." So he heard the story of the weed. Disapproval was written in his forehead, but he said nothing further. Egwene only smiled inwardly.

"As for the more pressing matters, I bring little new. My Keeper of Chronicles had little substantial evidence to Lanfear and her companion's lair. Only a statement from an elder Ogier north of Kinslayer's Dagger who couldn't remember making it."

This shook Lan, who burst up from his chair with visible agitation on his normally hardened features. Egwene's eyes widened in shock, curiosity ramming into her the second after. "What is it?"

Lan swirled around on his feet, striding over to the map and looking down at something there. His eyes were searching and Egwene frantically tried to spot whatever he was looking at. Suddenly his hand shot out and pointed at the small marking named _Yontiang stedding_ near the mountains named Kinslayer's Dagger, tracing along the border until he found a valley called _Tresman's Bowl. _

"They're hiding in this valley."

Egwene shot out of her chair, "What?" By the door even Turin was showing shock, for a moment forgetting his duties. Hal, who had stood behind Egwene the whole time, nodded his head dumbly, his calm demeanour accepting already what Lan claimed. Egwene shook her head disbelievingly, though this had been what she hoped for. "How can you be sure?"

Lan's face was firmly set, his eyes showing the certainty of his belief. "The memory from the Aiel War took place just a stone's throw away from Yontiang stedding. I remember our outpost was overlooking this valley, and there were massive activity there once. People building something. I thought it was only a woodcutter's area at the time. Now I believe it was the mansion in which I was previously a prisoner and at present, Nynaeve."

The room was overcome by silence after Lan's words died out, only ruptured by the occasional flares from the fireplace and Egwene's own thumping heart. This meant Nynaeve could be found soon. That soon she and the babies would be home and in safety. It was almost too hard to believe. One minute they had nothing, only the babbles of an elder Ogier going senile, then they wound up with the location on a silver platter.

It was almost enough to make her doubt Lan's credibility again. But Perrin's firm belief Lan was alive, doubled with all the different views of the same story, didn't allow her to see so short. Three lives were in danger, hanging by the thread over a dark abyss, and Egwene had the knife.

Of course she wouldn't let down her old mentor.

"Once the reinforcements come here, we are off to Tresman's Bowl. Prepare yourself for battle." She nodded at Turin, urging him to take the message further. Her mind fell into combat thoughts as he left and went downstairs to find the leaders of the village.

Egwene turned back to Lan. He was studying her, wondering what her next move was. Seeing the quiet question in his eyes, she realised he was asking permission to join them.

"Hal will take you to the armoury. Take whatever you need. A horse shall be saddled and readied for you."

Lan nodded, bowing to her and starting to leave, when she held him back. Dark orbs stared enquiringly into her own, her hand half-fisting in the cloak he wore. Steeling herself, she looked back at Hal who stood with a bundle in his hands. Hal stepped forward and gave it to Lan as Egwene took a step to the side. She watched him as he unwrapped it, his face stoic until the moment of revelation.

Surprise flowing across his features, Lan stood staring at the long sword in his hands. Wrought by Aes Sedai, given to the Malkieri line of royals, this sword was the same his mother had laid in his cradle along with the locket and signet ring as the Shadowspawn crossed the borders of Malkier. The true heirloom to the kingdom he was sworn to protect against the Blight. And he was the only true wielder of that sword.

"You will need it," was all Egwene said, preparing to leave the room herself. Hal had told her how Lan hid from his countrymen and for Nynaeve's sake she wanted him to get rid of the guilt and shame sitting on his shoulders.

Stopping by the door, turning to face him, she saw how he precariously tied it to the makeshift belt. Hal would see to a new belt for him as well. It warmed her heart to see the familiar spine as he stood strong and proud in the middle of the room. She was sure Nynaeve would agree.

Now only the _hadori_ was missing, but she doubted he would wear that until he faced Nynaeve again. But at least there would be no need to hide his presence from the villagers.

* * *

The day had but hours left of sunlight when the scouts returned to the village with news. Sending a few Aes Sedai with their Warders near Yontiang stedding, their mission had been to discover the exact position of the mansion so precise fine-tuning to their plan could be executed. Egwene had taken the message of hordes of Shadowspawn surrounding the mansion, as well as outposts here and there, with a warrior's calm. At least her scrambling an army together was well warranted. 

Standing by the Gates, the same Aes Sedai who scouted were glowing with _saidar_ and _saidin_, being the few who knew exactly the position their group would enter. The plan was simple. They would take advantage of the height differences and send the main group of long-distance archers to the hills, the rest remaining on ground behind the infantry to help shorten the numbers. In a sneak-attack, the cavalry would come on the flank, riding downhill, and hopefully surprise the defenders. Once the numbers were evened down a bit, the Aes Sedai responsible for each and his own group, would advance. And thus the battle commences.

At least, to Egwene's opinion and hope, that's what _was_ supposed to happen.

However when she stepped through the Gate with Gawyn and Lan riding at her sides, Turin and Hal behind her with the main infantry troop, she realised things were going the totally opposite direction.

Around her, Trollocs had stormed forward through the undergrowth of the forest, animalistic cries breaking through the _clank_ of metal and whinnies of horses.

Surprise was not on their side. To put it simply, it was on the enemy's side.

"Get your weapons out! Defend the Tear of Tar Valon!" Gawyn cried out beside her, his armour blinking in the waning light as the mark on his shield stood out: a raging boar on green background. On her other side, Lan had withdrawn his sword, effectively cutting down those fortunate (or not so fortunate) ones who had broken through the preliminary defence.

Adrenaline surging through her veins, Egwene reined her mare and turned it to face the Aes Sedai in the square of light. "Close the Gates!"

It took only a second breath to comply, the thin burst of light all over the valley disappearing in a flash. Egwene opened herself up to _saidar_, sensing the pressure on her mind that was Shadowspawn. Quickly weaving the threads of Fire and Air, she sent the hurricane of red-golden fire towards a stream of Trollocs that appeared in her line of sight between Lan and Turin. They let out a final cry as they were swallowed by the Hell's Fire and fell onto the ground, writhing.

Swinging her mare around amidst the cluster of horses and soldiers, Egwene searched the hills around her for battle updates. On the spot of the hill were the main group of archers were supposed to stand, flashes of lightening and fire told her the Aes Sedai had come through and were protecting them from attackers. Good.

Half-minded striking down a Trolloc attempting to attack a lone soldier with Lightening, Egwene looked around to orientate herself.

They were at the planned location, down in the valley near the road leading to the mansion. In the distance, nestled in the middle with hills surrounding it, was the great three-story, or more, mansion. In any other circumstances, the mansion would have allured her with its artistic beauty and delicate design. But this was hardly any other time and against the falling darkness, the mansion seemed like a place of death.

Between the mansion and them was forest at all sides, thinning out into flat, snow-covered plains. Perfect for cavalry formations. Which reminded her... Where was the cavalry?

Egwene searched the place they had planned for the riders to outflank the defenders. No sign of activity; not even Shadowspawn. That could very well mean either the Trollocs had slipped through the Gate before the cavalry went through and were currently battling it out on the other side. Or the Gate had been shut off before they moved out.

She hoped it was the latter. It could very well mean victory if the surprise was somehow regained. A Trolloc's greatest fear beside a Borderlander would have to be a rider. It was the second strongest fighter to defeat Shadowspawn single-handedly.

Suddenly a warning bell went off in her mind. Twisting in her seat, Egwene just managed to weave a shield of Earth and Water as a pair of beak-mouthed, goat-legged Trollocs charged her. They did not live long to tell the tale, however, as Gawyn was by her side in a flash, cutting their heads off in one sweep of his sword.

"Light, Egwene! Stay focused!" he reprimanded her quietly, but firm, though his mean demeanour was broken by his lopsided smile. It warmed her belly, despite the adrenaline pumping in her veins.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I guess my thoughts were elsewhere. For example on the missing four-legs up on the hill." Her poor attempt at code speaking was driven by stress, but no less received. Gawyn brought his eyes up to the hill, confirming her statement with a curt nod. His face was serious.

"They are probably bidding their time. We'll just hold on until then. In the meantime, we need to keep the archers alive. They'll be vital when the spawn bring their cannons."

"See to it, Captain. I'll take care of things here. And be careful," Egwene added with a touch of softness. She was the Amyrlin Seat and he the Captain of the Tower Younglings, but they were nevertheless bonded in both love and duty. Gawyn smiled at her, nodding, before turning his steed and shouting off orders to follow him.

Panic suddenly filled her as she saw a Trolloc's sword ramming through the air near Gawyn's neck. She hurriedly wove a thread of Air, sending it through the open space to stop it only inches from his spine. It hovered in the air calmly as Gawyn twisted and mouthed 'Thank you' with a smile. She let go of it as he rode off with his men and it landed softly on the snow.

Yes, Egwene thought as she obliterated another few Trollocs and watched Lan take out a few others, she would take care of things here.

* * *

Was it only imagined, or did the ground shake above her head? Nynaeve supported herself on weak knees, leaning heavily against the wall as her throat forced air down her lungs. No, she must be imagining it. Just as she had imagined all those other unnatural shakings in the many past hours. 

On the last check, her opening had been about eight centimetres. Still too little for birth to commence entirely, unfortunately. She had no idea how much time had passed since she came to after being knocked out, but it surely felt like three lifetimes and then some. Nynaeve groaned as another contraction ripped through her abdomen.

Once the birth started, she doubted there would be much of a fight in her left. There was just nothing except the pain that kept her going. Oh, she would have loved to bond with her children, to calm their minds as they were forcibly pushed from the world they knew and into a new one, but that was impossible. No one knew a weave that could do such a thing. And it was impossible to use _saidar_ on oneself, as well.

_Lan..._

* * *

There it was again. The dulled pain shooting through him from head to abdomen. Lan was certain he had not imagined it this time. Being completely surrounded by the _ko'di_, the Oneness, he could sense everything and nothing. He halted in his onslaught of attacking Shadowspawn, making sure there was no one in the immediate vicinity before meditating a moment. 

It was hardly heard of, but the sensation fit right into his many experiences with the Bond between an Aes Sedai and her Warder. At the moment, it reminded him of the time Moiraine died and his Bond was transferred to Myrelle Sedai. For a scarce second there, it had only been vague and distant, but then it had shaped form to the bundle of emotions at the back of his head.

He knew little of what had caused his and Nynaeve's Bond to snap, but Lan had kept wondering in the hours after her abduction if it could be by some weave or _ter'angreal _from the Age of Legends. And there were still people alive who knew a thing or two from that time in history.

So if his hypothesis was correct, that somehow he felt the remains of the Bond with Nynaeve, it meant she was still alive...and in labour.

He needed to get to her, and fast.

Gripping his sword tighter, Lan reined the horse he had been given by the people of Lacha, and prepared to storm through the undergrowth alone. Just before he reached the first tree, a burst of light struck down in it and exploded. The horse whinnied in shock, Lan's hand going down to comfort it as he shook wooden splinters from his hair.

"Going somewhere?" spoke a voice he knew all too well.

Lan turned in his saddle, eyes tracing the invisible direction of which the female voice had come from. Standing near a large boulder, her eyes aflame with pride and superiority, Lanfear smirked at him.

"Rescue that wench of yours, perhaps? And the bastards?" Lan held back his words, feeling the tingle running down his back signalling that the woman was channelling _saidar_. Despite his many years of fighting alongside Aes Sedai versus other channelers, it made Lan none the wiser on how to defend himself from them. He could neither see anyone to come to his assistance either. His consciousness strung him between the want to rescue Nynaeve and the need to defend himself.

"It will be no use, you know," Lanfear continued, smirking even more, standing calmly by the boulder and gauging his reaction. Probably drawing great pleasure from this onslaught of words. "She's barely holding it together."

Lan's jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of the sword.

"I'd give her another hour at tops."

The horse moved unsteadily under him, sensing the distress coursing through his master's body, though Lan's face was a mask of stone.

"A slow, but painful death. For all of them."

That did it! Lan raised his sword, pulling the reins hard to the side, and charged. Lanfear watched him with a satisfied grimace, delighted at having him this emotionally charged. Completely in her hand, still following her every wink. The tingle along his spine increased, but Lan was already engulfed by _ko'di_, rushing ahead with the sword on high and prepared to revenge all the pain inflicted on Nynaeve.

But he never got that far.

"Lan! Get back!"

Suddenly the earth groaned and rose before him, splashing up in a great geyser of snow, mud and rock. The steed threatened to throw him off so he dove headfirst into the abruption, but he grabbed the reins hard, forcing their direction to the right. They made it in the nick of time, stopping to watch whoever caused the rain of earth pelting down around them.

Between him and Lanfear at the other side, stood Egwene, the Amyrlin. Her stole hung around her shoulders, adjusted to not fall off as she fought, the blue-green split dress she was wearing already splattered with blood from enemies she'd killed. At the other side of him, still near the boulder, stood Lanfear with an angered look about her, obviously displeased with how things had turned out.

"Are you okay?" Egwene called back to him, battle stance ready and covering him perfectly.

"Yes, thank you, Mother." Lan tightened his grip on the sword, urging the horse forward. "But let me fight this."

"No," was Egwene's simple reply. This time she looked back at him when she spoke. There was unfinished business and fierce determination in her eyes. "You are to take a detail of men and proceed to the mansion before enemy artillery is settled. Find Nynaeve." She looked back at Lanfear. "This one is mine."

Not knowing what to say, Lan just nodded and turned to leave. Just as he was about to ride off, a whisper reached his ears.

"And bring them to safety."

Lan paused, studying the woman before him whose mentor had once been Nynaeve. Egwene might not know it, but there was a lot of his wife in her. He smiled slightly and nodded.

Then he left to find his wife.

* * *

On top of the hill, overlooking the valley from the south, the battle was slowly beginning to unwind. Less and less Shadowspawn were climbing the snow-covered hills, either by command of their Myrddraal or something else. Carcasses of their fallen littered the top and sloping downhill, the dark skin sometimes broken by the red cloak of Tar Valon or the blue of Malkier's soldiers. 

Gawyn swept his sword down in Fanning the Wind, followed by a Swan in Moonlight, striking down two or three Trollocs in one go. Around him his companions and subordinates were fighting bravely, the archers having found their swords or long knifes for short-range defence.

It had taken awhile to climb the hill and overcome those Trollocs separating them from the archers, but they had done it. At the moment many were taking a break, recovering their bows and arrows, some calming down the horses running away from the attack. Cleaning his sword on the body of an eagle-beaked and pig-legged Trolloc, Gawyn stepped across the carcasses toward the edge, looking down into the valley.

The mansion loomed darkly in the middle surrounded by forests and mountains, now that the darkness of evening was coming down upon them, here and there highlighted by the slight light from the moon hiding behind the clouds. Occasionally he could see the flares of Power-brought attacks in the valley, centred at the opening mostly. Night battles were generally discouraged among the brass, but they would have no choice in this circumstance.

What really irked Gawyn, though, was that there was no sign to the cavalry. Meaning that it was quite possible a large amount of Trollocs, perhaps even a fist, had gotten through the Gates before they were closed, and were now breaking havoc in a defenceless town village.

He looked back at the opening of the valley. Egwene was down there, fighting. He thought he'd seen one of her Earth-based attacks a while ago. Hoping she would be all right, wanting nothing but being down there, Gawyn turned his focus to the other hills.

The second archer group on the hill opposite of them seemed to have come through much earlier. There were streaks of red flashing through the air as fire arrows surged down behind the enemy lines surrounding the mansion. The last defence ring, stretching from hill to hill with both barricades and cannons. A cannon had been fired just minutes ago, upon the other archer group, and more were following. Apparently they saw no reason to start on this hill yet. But Gawyn feared it would not be long now.

"Archers!" Gawyn shouted to those still standing on their feet. Surprisingly many met his glance. "Draw your bows! Short distance up front, long bows on the second line! Time to give our support to those down there!"

Cheers and yessirs met his order, the place once again bustling with activity. Gawyn found the soldiers he had brought up, well what was left of them, and pointed towards the edge and around them. "I want the archers covered and protected from all sides, including beneath. Any Trollocs heading your way...don't hesitate to kill. Once they discover we're still alive up here, there will be possible cannon fire, so be careful."

"Aye, Captain," replied his second-in-command, a stout Taraboner named Yrlar. Gawyn nodded briskly, returning to the edge as the troops formed their lines.

One of the archer commanders made a sign meaning fire arrows followed by night arrows. Gawyn raised his sword, signalling the first volley of fire. They were good men. He had faith in them.

"Fire!"

* * *

Egwene watched fascinated as the first volley of fire arrows struck down in Trolloc defence lines, taking many of the defenders with them. Good, that meant Gawyn had taken charge of the archer post and overcome the Trollocs. She was relieved, somewhat, by the thought that he was elsewhere than on the direct battlefield, even though she worried about the cannons. The other hill was being peppered with it. 

Her thoughts then went to Lan and the men he must have taken with him, somewhere around the mansion trying to find a way in. If Gawyn opened a hole in the ranks, they would be able to get in, but the question was how they were getting out again.

The battle was steadily going in the enemy's favour, in Lanfear's favour. All over, they were being pushed back by the Trollocs, severely losses in their wake. And they weren't even bringing in the second reinforcements. If this kept up, Egwene realised, the victory was probably ending up in the enemy's hands. To add to it all, the ghost pain of her earlier wounds were bothering Egwene, making her less consistent in her defence and attack in hers and Lanfear's private battle.

"Taking a break already, _Mother_?" spat Lanfear tauntingly, parading along the line of trees, the dark mansion covering her background. Egwene gritted her teeth together, channelling _saidar_ through her fingers and weaving Earth, Fire and Spirit together in a vicious attack. The ground shook as fiery beams struck out from beneath Lanfear, trying to trap and restrain her.

She did not succeed, Egwene admitted to herself as she jumped out of reach of the sharp jets of Lightening striking around her spot in a star pattern. She hoped the Malkieri forces were holding fast near her and that the archers on top of the hill withstood the bombardment of explosive fire.

But most of all she hoped Gawyn was clearing the way for Lan into the mansion.

* * *

Lan stood near the outskirts of the forest beneath the southern hill, hidden in the darkness of the undergrowth along with his ten-man outfit. Most of them were Malkieri, wearing the traditional winter armour similar to what he and Nynaeve had worn in the Last Battle. There was also one of the disguised male Aes Sedai, Turin he believed, as well as another female Aes Sedai and her Warder. The Malkieri had followed him readily when he asked for volunteers to the rescue mission. Among them was a man having met and talked with Nynaeve personally, and apparently he had been quite taken with her. It amused Lan, somewhat, even though the man's overbearing awe for Lan annoyed him. All the men's awe annoyed him and it had always done so. As a principle, Lan would not lead men to death, he still was reluctant, but that had been a time he still wished to die defending his empty oath to a dead country. Now both he and the country had something to live for. He couldn't die yet. The Blight had been defeated as life grew there again after Tarmon Gai'don, but the Blight within himself and the hearts of the Malkieri had yet to disappear. 

"Milord," a man's voice drew him out of his thoughts. Lan turned to him, one of the more seasoned of the Malkieri, his armour more worn than the rest. "The enemy ranks have dwindled, but it is still too reckless to charge in. We cannot risk it."

Lan watched, and indeed, the ranks were still filling up where holes were made by the archers' far-reaching arrows. His brows creased in thought. The enemy was hiding their numbers, trying to make it look like they were one and the same. But where did they come from? Was there a ditch behind where they hid until it was their time to pop forth, or was there another way between them and the mansion than what met the eye?

"We'll wait until the moment to advance shows itself." His order was simple, to the point and utterly worthless. He had been picky when finding people to come with him. They were all old warriors, everyone gathered here, down to the Green sister standing off to the side together with Turin in his Tar Valon garb and her Warder that shimmered in and out of view.

He hoped they didn't have to wait for too long. Nynaeve was in there, needing his help.

* * *

"Do you need any help?" 

Gawyn turned to see a fair Andoran woman, blonde curls framing her ageless face in delicate knots, climbing off her mare, adjusting the green shawl around her shoulders as she did. Her Warder led her horse to the undergrowth, tying it to a tree, shimmering out of view as his cloak caught in the breeze. Gawyn made a silent prayer of thanks, heading over to meet her halfway.

"You must be sent by the Light, Elyena Sedai." Her blue eyes danced with amusement at his praise, half-maintaining the serious and attentive features. Of all the Aes Sedai travelling here with the army, Gawyn was happy for Elyena Sedai. She was one of Egwene's firmest supporters in the Green Ajah, and not as stuck-up as some of the others he knew. Though he was certainly used to arrogant people hanging around him from his childhood, it did not meant he enjoyed it all the same.

"We had to break off from the defence at the third outpost when the Gate snapped shut." Third outpost was where the cavalry was meant to enter. Gawyn whipped his head up, eager for news.

"Did they make it through?" he asked, leading her over to one of the more safer spots on this hill. From the edge the archers were still releasing their arrows, so far receiving no serious threats from either attackers or counter-fire. Yet despite of all this, the Trollocs held their lines firmly and supplied.

Elyena shook her head, gesturing her Warder, a man of lanky built and firm shoulders beneath a dark battle outfit and the traditional cloak, to be on the lookout for enemies. "They were just about to enter when the Amyrlin's order came. We had no immediate threat of Trollocs attacking us, but we deemed it unwise to bring them out at that location. I was to find the Amyrlin or you for new orders."

Inside his head, the brain was working overtime, taking in the new turn of events. If the Trollocs had not escaped through the Gate and engaged the riders in combat, and in fact knew nothing of their existence, that gave them the element of surprise. Gawyn looked out over the valley again, studying the battle taking place, gauging the next set of attack. Top priority was getting rid of the enemy cannons currently blasting away at the other archer outpost. He doubted the main army could get free of their attackers right away, now trapped in the forest down in the valley, so that meant no penetration of enemy lines around the mansion right away. The cavalry was still in Malkier, waiting for new destination and orders. They would have the force to break the lines. And yet they needed them for the final stage of attack.

There was no getting around it.

He turned to Elyena, opening his mouth to give her the orders, but never came thus far as someone shouted, "Incoming!"

Time slowed down as Gawyn twisted and saw the ball of red, explosive fire coming their way, the arch telling him it would hit dead-on. Though Trollocs in general wasn't the brightest fighter, they were quite good at the cannon thing.

"Get down!" He shouted, jumping away from the ledge and into the undergrowth.

A moment later the place exploded.

* * *

Egwene was startled out of her thoughts when the _boom_ reached her eardrums. She whipped her head around so fast her neck almost snapped, eyes immediately finding the ledge where fire rose up in the air. The main archer outpost. 

Panic surging through her, she quickly searched for the bundle of emotions at the back of her head. She sighed happily, the fright releasing its grip when she discovered that besides a grumpy attitude, Gawyn was all right. But that cannon would be trouble, she knew, seeing another ball of fire rushing through the air, hitting right beneath the ledge, shaking the trees and snow, releasing an avalanche. She looked down on the forest beneath the hill, imagining she was seeing Lan and his troop there. They could not head out on a suicide mission upon the enemy ranks without someone in their back.

Egwene hoped the messenger she sent up there a while ago, during one of the lesser hectic moments in her battle with Lanfear, would reach Gawyn soon. He needed to get that cannon out of the way.

"Don't lose your concentration, _Mother_!" A blast of earth blew up in Egwene's face; she jumped out of the way, rolling upon the snow and stifling the groan building in her throat.

She had to get rid of this dratted woman.

* * *

"Take cover!" Gawyn cried at one of the late-runners, feeling his muscles strain as he dragged the body of a wounded soldier away from the ledge. 

Only a few moments and the ledge was already looking like a devastated battle zone. Trees were broken or blown away, snow and earth up-turned and deep holes covering the ground. Here and there lay broken weapons or broken men, moonlight and the scare red-golden fire reflecting in their steel and armour.

It was a bloody sight, not for the faint-hearted. Gawyn only watched with grim stoicism as he slung the wounded man over his shoulder and ducked into the undergrowth. The others still standing were doing the same as he, dragging their comrades along as they retreated further into the forest and alongside the ledge to their second base.

As a rule when introduced to these enemy fire-spitters, Gawyn made sure every post had at least two or three vantage points from which they could attack. When the first was bombed, move to the second, and then back again if the same happened.

They came to the other point, a less open spot near the ledge some hundred feet from the last one. The wounded were being gathered further into the forest, behind a couple of boulders, away from harm.

Gawyn dropped his man there to the care of his comrades, moving back to where the archers were lining up again under the command of Yrlar. His Youngling uniform was dark with blood from an unseen wound, but he moved about with his old sureness and stability to suggest he was not harmed.

"How's the situation?" he asked when he reached his second-in-command. The view was good from here, but there was slightly restricted view of the furthest east lines. But he could see with clarity where the cannons were situation. Behind enemy lines, safely nestled out of the long-distance arrows. He cursed.

"As you can see, Captain," Yrlar spoke in his country drawl, "the spawn has considered their defence closely. The lines were formed almost immediately after we attacked, so I guess someone tipped them off."

Gawyn shook his head, red-golden curls shifting upon his shoulders. "I doubt it. We're facing one or more of the Forsaken here. They have resources we don't know about. And they speak with Ravens." As a matter of fact, he had caught the tale from a lowly townsman how he'd seen a black crow of some sort flying over Lacha before they took off.

Yrlar nodded hesitantly, his feelings for possible traitors and Forsaken competing with each other. But he understood. "We should have brought one of the new devices your sister has been working on."

"We would have needed a channeler for that sort of thing too," Gawyn reminded him with a smirk. Since before Tarmon Gai'don, Elayne had amused (or not too amused) herself with making new _ter'angreal_. According to Egwene, his sister was a very prized contributor to the arsenal of Power-based items. He felt a little proud of his baby sister. Aes Sedai, Queen of Andor and part-time inventor. Not to mention the wife of the Lord Dragon Reborn.

"But you do have a channeler," a voice spoke to them. They turned their heads to see Elyena shaking the snow off her skirt, her Warder standing alert behind her. "And a competent one at that, Captain." She smirked sardonically, watching the same spot as them. The Trollocs were loading another volley of fire, its destination yet to be decided, but presumably their previous location.

"Can you hit them from this far?" Gawyn asked her, chiding himself for not thinking of it sooner. With the arrival of Elyena Sedai, they could blast away both cannon positions without losses. Guilt tore at him, guilt for those who had already paid with their lives, but he shook it off.

"A bit of Lightening down into those cannons," Elyena said, "Possibly with a sprint of Fire, could make them explode and take everyone in its vicinity with it." She met Gawyn's eyes with hers, waiting.

It took him no time to decide. "Get those fire-spitters. Don't bother taking it light on the force." Elyena nodded and turned her concentration to the valley below and the Shadowspawn ranks around the mansion.

A tingling crept down his neck and a second later the sky darkened over the mansion, growling with thunder. Four bursts of lights connecting with the first position and the air roared with sound and flame.

* * *

The red burst of sparkles flung out in the air, raining down unto the Trolloc defences, fascinating Lan and giving him a little relief in the strained muscles. He was taut with tension, having been sitting in this spot what seemed like hours and waiting for an opportunity to rise. They only needed a hole in the defences to take their horses and ride out through the gap and enter the mansion. Once past the lines, he knew where he would go. 

There was a secret entrance from which he had escaped some while ago, leading into the cellars of the mansion. From there they could work their way through the guards, no doubt fewer inside than outside, seeing as their barracks were situated beneath the ground away from the mansion. It was from these barracks the Trollocs were turning up from, Lan had reasoned in his study of enemy movement.

Once they hit the entrance to the lower levels, he would have someone stay guard as he went to find Nynaeve. She was most likely in one of the cells, alone or guarded by a small detail. Lanfear hadn't indicated there was need to guard Nynaeve, if there was any truth to what she'd said. Of course she could be tricking him that Nynaeve was alive and not dying, but the phantom pains at the back of his head told him different. And his heart readily agreed.

Another burst of Lightening hit another cannon position, blasting the fire-spitters to pieces and taking a few of its wielders with it. Lan did not allow himself to cheer quietly like some of those with him. He was too caught up in the seriousness of this mission.

Now if only the Aes Sedai behind the attacks could blast a gap in the enemy ranks, Lan would make sure the woman or man received some form of gratitude.

* * *

"Captain! Captain!" Gawyn turned from the spectacular view of cannon after cannon being sundered to pieces by Elyena Sedai's _saidar_-attacks, to find a so far unknown man running up to him, leaving his horse behind. He was breathing harshly, wearing the Tear of Tar Valon emblazoned on his chest, clutching a blood-covered sword in his hands. The formal greeting passed away in a flurry as he sat down. 

"What is it, Soldier?" He asked, gesturing for one of the soldiers to give his water flask to the messenger.

The man thanked silently for the flask and drank heavily. His features were young, but he showed no fright so common of newcomers, so Gawyn guessed he was seasoned by the last major battle taking place on this earth: the Last Battle.

"The Amyrlin Seat, may the Light bless her, sent me with news. Lord Mandragoran has taken a troop to see if he can break through the ranks and enter the mansion."

Gawyn's head whipped around startled with the news. "Where?" He studied the forest line along the valley, hugging the bottom of the hills all the way round. No movement yet.

"I believe he spoke of heading in from the south," replied the messenger, swallowing another drink.

That meant within the main archer group's support range, _this_ group's range. Gawyn studied the lines, seeing the thickness holding together despite Elyena's repeated attacks on their cannons.

"Elyena-"

"I'm on it!" she called back before he finished, the stormy clouds above the mansion moving its centre southward. Thunder rolled through the air as bolts of lightening struck down in the enemy lines, followed by balls of fire. Tension clutched his shoulders, tightening its hold as he awaited the results.

The Trollocs were chaotic for a moment as they fled and darted the attacks, the lines shifting in thickness. He did not dare to hope as a possible gap began to form, stretching about a hundred metres or so.

"Did the Lord take horses?" Gawyn asked the messenger, who nodded.

"Yes, sir, they did."

The gap would be big enough then, if they could manage to keep it that way.

"Elyena Sedai, please keep at it as the archers fall back to the first position. We'll have better range there for support. When you see the Lord has passed the ranks and reached the mansion, draw back and head to Lacha with orders for the cavalry. They are to enter from planned point of entry, but move it a few hundred metres further north, closer to the second archer unit. Tell them to split up and attack from both flanks. Yrlar." Gawyn turned to his second-in-command. "Position the men so that when the cavalry gets here, we go down to ground level and support the infantry as they head in. I will get down to them and see to it that the new orders reach them."

"As you say, Captain."

As he hurried in direction of his horse, people starting to bustle around him, Gawyn hoped it would be enough room in the ranks for Lan. He hoped the cavalry would get here in time. And he hoped they would win this battle.

* * *

"Climb your mounts," Lan ordered, already sitting down on his steed and making sure everything was in place. The Power-wrought sword in his hand blinked in the moonlight flickering through the gaps in the trees, highlighting the dark blood. Just one more time. "Prepare yourself; this will not be easy." 

The men nodded, their faces mirrors of his own as they gazed out on the enemy ranks where the Trollocs were falling under the wrath of Aes Sedai attacks. Shields and swords, some with lances nestled in their arms and others with helmets covering their faces. One of them even had a bow designed for riders. They were prepared, Lan noted. Counting the number of breaths escaping his lips, Lan grabbed the reins and held them at the ready. Soon, very soon...

"Forward!" He called, raising his sword above his head as he kicked the steed in the flanks and flapped the reins. The horse dove forward through the bushes, whinnying in obvious pleasure at being able to ride across flat ground over the plains. Soon the other men, crying out their war cries as they too rushed forward, followed him.

The small formation of riders had set out for the difficult task of breaking through the lines like cavalry. Lan looked ahead, steadying his steed in the right direction, noting the defenders had not yet discovered them. They were too busy howling in pain and trying to escape the lightening bolts.

Once he was sure, he calmed his mind and embraced the _ko'di_, the Oneness, like a second skin to himself. He could sense everything around him, but time had slowed down. He could hear the slow thumping of horse hooves against snow, the _clanks_ of steel as armour-clad warriors moved in their seats, his own heart beat going like a mantra against his chest.

In the distance the mansion was drawing nearer like a looming presence reminding him of all the evil he had fought all this life. All the people he had lost. All the people he had found. Nynaeve. Their children. The Sheepherder and all his friends. Everyone having earned a place in his growing heart that Nynaeve had managed to awaken.

The Trollocs were still not seeing them, but in one of the ditches, a pig-nosed, goat-legged creature was slowly turning around in Lan's slow vision. It would meet his gaze full on. He awaited it with firm determination; his sword still raised low at his side. Only moments now...

And then they were there, right in the middle of Trolloc chaos, slashing down any unfortunate spawn standing in the way. Riding through it all, the lightening and fire still falling down around them, between them, but not on them. Lan's arm swung up and down, his feet urging the horse to press on until they reached the end of the line, where the ditches were. It all went so easily slow.

Striking down a Trolloc having regained his wits and brave enough to attack, Lan prepared his steed for the ditches ahead. The enemy still alive in the ditches watched with morbid realisation as the riders jumped over their heads and rode on. Lan couldn't help but feel a bit of relief at how things went their way, and his silent thanks once again went out to the Aes Sedai helping them.

A cheer rose behind him and Lan looked to see all the men who set out with him was still alive, a horde of dead Trollocs in their wake, either struck down by horses, swords or lightening. They rode on until they reached the mansion, Lan guiding them along the walls until they reached the back. The ranks were thinner here, probably by supplying its forces to the front as no attackers came from the rear.

Not yet at least.

Finding the spot he'd been looking for, Lan slowed his steed to a halt and jumped off in one go. The others did so as he went straight up to the smooth, dark stonewall of the mansion, pressing on a crevice sticking out. A part of the wall swung inwards, opening up for their entry to the cellars.

Which was guarded.

Lan raised his sword in a block just as a group of human soldiers, probably Darkfriends, attacked him. The other men he had brought with him, having sent the horses off to avoid detection, came seconds later to help. He cursed silently as steel broke the skin of his upper arm, sending his sword in a downward arc to slash across the man's chest.

Minutes later, the only ones standing were Lan and his men. They all sported new wounds and stumbled a little, but none were fatal. He really had picked the right crowd. He turned to look around, recognising the wine barrels and ale barrels organised in neat rows. Torches hanging on the walls lighted the room. Further in would be a hallway that eventually led to the lower levels, disrupted by guard rooms and then he would find Nynaeve.

_I'm on my way, my heart._

* * *

In the top floor of his mansion, sitting by the large windows and watching the spectacular battle taking place outside the four walls, Moridin sipped his mulled wine, spiced with spices from the eastern part of the world. A smile creased his lips, showing a bit of white teeth behind tight lips. 

Things were working all right out there. The enemy was drawn thin everywhere, the units on top of the hills probably regretting their position as the cannons bombarded them. He was happy to have gained control of those weapons – it was proving quite worth it against the long-distance archers on the other side. They had no chance to respond as they had to seek cover.

"Good, good," he cackled, drinking up the rest of the wine and throwing the goblet over his shoulder. It never reached the ground, having been caught up by the nimble hands of his beloved servants. "Get me some more wine. And fruit!"

"Yes, milord." The servant bowed to the back of his seat, retreating through the door to fulfil his master's order. Moridin returned his focus to the battlefield, his mind at peace as he felt what his insubordinates were doing out there. It pleased him to know the spawn were succeeding at holding the attackers at bay, both on top of the hill and in the forest by the mouth of the valley.

Lanfear had gone out there a while ago, claiming she had business to do. He let her, just for the sake of enjoying her anger and resentment when she faced the Amyrlin seat of the Grey Tower. Moridin knew she was out there, coming to save her mentor. Probably brought forces from the new country of Malkier and the Tower. Perhaps even the Uncrowned King had joined in the merriment.

But at the moment those things did not entertain him. He was actually admitting to worry a bit about Lanfear. Through the special mind-bond the two of them shared because of her soul belonging to him, Moridin could sense her fatigue and anger. She was having a run for her money. Yet he felt certain she would survive this. Not that she wasn't expendable. He just liked her pretty face lighting up the room.

Channeling _saidin_, he reached out to get a greater perspective on the battle. He sensed confusion and chaos among the Trollocs as something happened in the sky. Clouds were gathering, he realised, probably due to _saidar_, as he sensed no connection to the male side of the True Source. He gently wove threads of elementals to enforce the walls of the mansion, to protect it from the lightening bolts and fire spitting out of the clouds.

Disturbing, Moridin thought to himself as his mental eye traced the direction of the attacks. Not at the mansion at all, but at... A great _boom_ rang through the air as fire rained down on the ditches and he watched with morbid realisation as the Trollocs fled their position and ran around. The cannons were the targets!

"No!" he cried angrily, hurriedly weaving a thread of Air to ball through the window glass, shattering it. Another cannon fell to the attacks as he wove a shield over the last two positions. They could not get rid of this too easily.

* * *

Elyena strained herself, feeling faint with fatigue as she channelled more and more to the stormy clouds above the mansion. Her Warder, Trylar, grasped her elbow, steadying her. He did not question her reason to continue attacking when not succeeding, though she felt his concern through the Bond. 

"Just a little more, then we'll go to Lacha. I will have enough for a Gate." Trylar nodded gravely, holding her tightly. She continued the assault on both the cannons and the mansion, but something repelled it, and she could not see the weaves. Which meant male channeller interference.

After only a minute, she felt the effortlessness get to her and she ceased the attacks. She let herself be guided by Trylar to her horse, climbing up and sighing deeply as she took hold of the reins. The Warder swung up on his own horse, gesturing her to take the lead.

Looking back at the battlefield, feeling washed-out and guilty for not finishing the job, Elyena hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Laughing, Moridin leant back in his chair. The attacks had stopped and the clouds withdrew, giving way for the moonlight to shine through. Fires surrounded the mansion from where the fireballs had lit corpses and wooden items, bathing the snow and the mansion with a red-golden light. 

Now he only needed to worry about the missing cavalry troop and Lanfear. But he could still feel her anger and satisfaction (something must have happened in her favour, Moridin though), her emotions clear through the Soul-Binder, so he thought little of it.

Behind him, the door opened again to let in the servant having been sent for more wine and fruit. He carried a tray with the ordered items; setting it upon the table beside the chair Moridin sat in. He bowed and withdrew to his place by the door without another word. Moridin took a heavy slurp of the wine, settling down to watch the scenes unfold once again. There were gaps in the ranks, but no one was attacking yet.

He felt certain they would win this time.

The Darkness would rule the World again.

* * *

"Aaaah!" Nynaeve cried out, tears running down her face as her legs gave out. She rolled around instinctively, landing on her back, whimpering. It was difficult to breathe, as if the air had thinned out and refused to enter her body. Not to mention it made the contractions all the more difficult. This last one had been the worst yet. It felt like she was being split in two. 

Oh, how she wished Lan was here! Then things could be better. He would take her out of this miserable cell and off to a safe spot where their children could be brought to this world. She had gone beyond caring for her own life at the moment, but she held on to save the boys, all of them.

_You have just found each other again. The children are coming and Malkier has been renewed. You have to hold on to the future you dreamt of!_

For a while, Nynaeve had believed the whole roof was coming down on her, as the ground shook and groaned as if strained. She had also thought a rain of rocks had hit the ground above, that somehow Egwene and Lan had found her and come to rescue her. But if it were them, it had been a long time since the battle began and they were obviously facing resistance. Nynaeve had in the end decided not to hope too dearly that there was a battle going on outside; she could not take getting disappointed at this time.

Feeling another contraction ripping through her abdomen, Nynaeve cried out and forced her elbows up to support her. She began to count the seconds, the cell whispering with her numbers as time passed. At approximately six-seven minutes, the pain returned in full force.

Breathing heavily, she brought her fingers to once again measure the opening between her legs. Almost there. Another five or so contractions and she would be ready to push. Then the children and her would get release.

"It's all right, it's okay," Nynaeve spoke in a mantra, both to calm herself and to calm the children. She took a deep breath, in through her nose and out her mouth.

And suddenly, the most peculiar memory came to her. It was back to the day before the Battle, when this whole story had begun. From the viewing Min gave her in the generals' tent, to meeting up with the girls and discussing it, Elayne Delving her and telling her she had two healthy twins inside her womb.

Her mind flashed to the Battle itself, saying goodbye to Lan and desperately wishing she could stay by his side. Then Moghedien, disguised as an Accepted, attacked her group and drew her away from the battle. The severing of the bond between her and Lan followed, her vicious attack on the Forsaken resulting in a stream of Balefire.

Then she was making her promise to Lan, leaving the Tarmon Gai'don behind, travelling the World until she ended up in Two Rivers again. Moving into the old cottage, receiving help from Tam al'Thor with the clothes chests and cribs. Attacked by Trollocs, fleeing to Emond's Field. Thinking Lan had survived, but in reality it was Perrin, face covered by shadows.

The attack on Emond's Field, Faile's pregnancy, the weed in the Tower that almost took her life (and as she later learned, drove away the Compulsion on Lan), Perrin's mysterious sleep, "Rhien's" attack as well as the real Rhien's attack in Lacha.

She could still feel the scar on her neck.

Isam/Slayer turning up in Fal Dara, Haydar's deceit and betrayal, the Borderlands accepting her claim of Malkier's old lands; all the images rushed through her mind's eye in a blink. Coming to Lacha, seeing the life the people had made for themselves.

Visiting the grave of Lan.

Getting a visit from Lan.

Being kissed by Lan.

Being held by Lan.

Being protected by Lan.

Abducted by Lanfear's lackeys.

Attacked by Lanfear in this cell, abruptly setting off the birth.

Undergoing the contractions, the pain, the breathlessness, and the heartbreak of being so far away from her husband in this moment of need.

Nynaeve couldn't hold the tears at bay, thick wads of salty water streaming down her cheeks and unto the bare skin above her chest. It was all too much. The memories only made it more unbearable, more difficult to hold on to the hope that Lan would find her and rescue her.

Another contraction hit and made her scream.

"Shut yer trap, wench!" A voice suddenly called out through her pain, through the darkness of the hallway outside her cell. A source of light came closer, she saw beneath heavy-lidded eyes, followed by a pair of uneven footsteps. As the person came into view, Nynaeve felt like cowering, being in this totally vulnerable position.

It was an old man, leering evilly at her, swinging a set of keys around his stubbed fingers. He wore a jailor's outfit, she reasoned, seeing the dirty, leather-based vest and baggy linen pants. To her further fright, he held an axe in his hand, blinking red-and-gold in the torchlight. It was terrifying.

"Ya kno' what happens to witches like ya when they scream?" he asked, wrenching his face in a grimace. "I'll make them scream more!"

He stuck the keys in the lock, the door sliding open as he stepped through. Just then another contraction hit her, a bit ahead of time. She screamed.

He never got as far as crossing the threshold.

* * *

Stepping through the gate, horse whinnying under her, Elyena gave a tired sigh and released the connection to the Source. Tylar looked at her enquiringly, gesturing for the village ahead of them. She nodded, urging her mare White Shoes forward. 

She'd barely managed to make a big enough Gate to come here and she wondered how it would be to keep another open for four entire cavalry units. Perhaps one of the sisters left could take the weave from her and channel their own _saidar_ to maintain the Gate.

"Are you all right?" Tylar asked her as they rode forth. She barely heard him for the blood and wind thumping in her ears.

"I believe another of the sisters will have to link with me, if not more. That last attack took the strength out of me." The village loomed closer, opening up around the turn of a snow dune so that she could see the cluster of riders standing impatiently near the main street.

They hastened, seeing as one of the riders broke off and met them halfway. It was Shiara Sedai, of the Yellow Ajah. Her group must have stayed back then until it was time for healing the wounded. The dark braid flung over one shoulders was her trademark, her yellow-fringed shawl tied in a knot in the front. Her beautiful eyes were worried as they came to a halt before her.

"How did it go, Elyena Sedai? How does the battle fare?" From the distance, Elyena could see the other riders having spotted them, more breaking off the group to meet them. She sighed.

"As we left, we were pretty much at stalemate, if not losing. We need to get moving quickly. I promised Captain Trakand to go with haste and bring you the new orders."

The other riders came closer. She could see the leader of the cavalry, Commander Jaelch Gomorran, an Amadician, and two other Aes Sedai followed by their Warders. Both of them were of the Yellow Ajah. She did not recognise their faces.

"What news, Elyena Sedai?" the Commander asked her. "Did you bring new orders?"

"Yes, we did. A new location and new set of attacks." She jumped off the mare tiredly, grabbing an arrow from the Commander's quiver. "If you please."

She proceeded to draw the overview of the valley, giving them an idea of how it looked before they jumped into it. She also give relayed the current positions and conditions of all posts, as well as how they were to act. The Commander nodded gravely, accepting the orders without question, totally trusting his Captain Trakand, then went off to gather his men.

Elyena turned to the Aes Sedai, meeting Shiara's eyes lastly. "I will need help to maintain the Gate, if you can spare it."

"Of course," the Yellow replied, her ageless face beautiful and serious. She looked to the others. "Kira," she told one of them, the one with golden curls of Ebou Dar, "Make ready to move out just behind the cavalry. You know the destination. Set up a triage centre and prepare to receive wounded." The younger woman bowed her head in respect, both her and the other Yellow turning the horses and setting off back towards the village.

Elyena met Shiara's glance, steeling herself for what was to come. "Let's go."

* * *

The old jailor's head fell off with a swipe of steel, blood sprouting out of the severed neck, spraying everywhere as the body fell down in slow motion. Behind the body stood Lan, the familiar Aes Sedai-wrought sword (previously hanging in Egwene's office, Nynaeve remembered) bloody and dripping unto the ground, his face a mask of stone. 

"Lan!" Nynaeve cried out, a tear of relief escaping her eyes as she made sure it was really him. The contraction lifted its grip on her, enabling her to sit up more on her elbows. She had never been so happy to see his face, not even hours ago when he showed up in her tent.

Her cry seemed to break him out of his stupor and Lan startled. In a flash of concern, his eyes widened and he rushed forward to her side. Kneeling down, he took in her state, opening his mouth to speak but was cut off by her kiss. She clung to him, lips moving desperately against his, rejoicing in his eager return.

Soon she had to let go to catch some breath, withdrawing to look into his blue orbs. Lan studied her face for a moment, then smiled and brought his hand up to caress her cheek. "I found you," he said simply. And then he squeezed his eyes shut. Nynaeve was startled when a tear wound down from the corner of Lan's eye. But she smiled through her tears and pain, hugging him as closely as she managed. He returned it fiercely, tightening his grip as he became aware of the bulge between them.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you before," Lan whispered into her hair, "that you had to face all these troubles alone. I'm sorry to have put you through all the pain of being a ruthless killer." Nynaeve understood his need and was all too happy to give it to him.

"I forgave you a long time ago, Lan." He hugged her tighter at this before drawing back. The tears were already gone, but she could see on his face where the salty water had dragged through the grime and dirt. Sentimentally, she brushed across his cheek and was surprised by being allowed to do it. Last time she wasn't allowed to.

Then Lan reached between them, finding his pouch and picking it up. He gave it to Nynaeve, gesturing her to open it. She found it a bit strange to take all this time to do senseless things when they really should get out of here and to a safer spot. Nevertheless, she took the pouch and opened it.

Inside laid the _hadori_ and Nynaeve's eyes widened as she realised it wasn't upon his head. She would have thought that with the renewal of Malkier and the sight of the King's sword in Lan's hands meant he would return to his former self. But as it showed, he hadn't had the last courage to wear everything yet. Noticing how the pain lingered in her belly, Nynaeve tied the _hadori_ around Lan's head quickly, studying it for just a moment before she squeezed her eyes shut.

This time when she cried out as the contraction hit her, Lan was holding her hand, gently supporting her back with his other arm, and whispering silly words of comfort into her ear.

"Lan..." Nynaeve began as the pain wore off. He looked at her enquiringly.

She bopped him hard on top of his head.

He didn't even blink, albeit mirth filled his eyes as she glared at him. "That's for getting me into this mess!" she growled, pointing at her stomach. "Now get me out of here!"

* * *

Gawyn was nearing the place where Egwene had last been seen when the rolling thunder against snow reached his ears. He turned around, gazing out on the battlefield around the mansion, from the archer posts in the hills to the enemy ranks on the ground. At first there was nothing except the explosions of cannon fire and general shouting. 

Then the noise rose and grew stronger, turning into the heavy thud of hooves against snow. Horse hooves. Eyes widening, trepidation filling him and he quickly moved to get better view, Gawyn hoped it was what believed it was.

And it was.

The cavalry had finally showed up. They were storming ahead as he moved into position, attacking from the rear of the valley and breaking off in two before moving in on the flanks. There was a great deal of animalistic cries as the Trollocs scrambled to move the cannons and themselves into position. But Gawyn knew it would be too late for them. Horsepower was greatly underestimated among the Shadowspawn.

Around him, the cheers of allied soldiers rose in the air, everyone understanding what a turn of events this meant. Once the ranks were broken and cannons were out of the way, the infantry would move in under support of long-distance archers who were already moving down the hills in search of closer range.

"Gather the troops!" he shouted to the men around him, more particularly the commanders he could see. "Once the lines are broken and the archers are positioned, we move in." They all replied affirmative.

Hope surging through him, Gawyn turned in his saddle and searched for the bundle of emotions in his mind, wondering now where his lover Amyrlin was fighting off Lanfear. Pinpointing the location, he dug his heels into the horse's flanks, rushing off towards the west end of the forest. She was still out there.

They dodged trees and undergrowth, side-skipping the bodies of friends and enemies and moving quickly. For some reason he felt that the longer it took him to get there, the less chance Egwene had. He felt her nearing and slowed to a halt.

He froze at what he encountered.

* * *

"Giving up already?" Lanfear stepped carelessly across the body of a Malkieri soldier, her eyes on the fallen slump of meat that was the great Amyrlin Seat of the Grey Tower. The green dress was splattered with blood from numerous wounds, twitching slightly before going totally still. 

Lanfear grinned, immensely pleased with how things were going. It had not even taken an hour and the counter-attacks she received were harmless against her. Though it was written in the cards she would win this battle, it gave great satisfaction to see her enemy lie on the ground like a rag-tag dog. This young broad who called herself the leader of the Witches of Tar Valon did not have the strength and force she claimed to.

"Just proves strength comes with age," she said tauntingly, strolling across the field and coming to a stop near the still body. "And now only Lews Therin is left to face my wrath. He will pay as dearly as the blasted woman who killed my Master!" Anger made her see red and Lanfear strode over to deliver the final attack upon the young Amyrlin...

...only to find the Amyrlin on her knees, surrounded by a soft glow and glaring daggers at her...with a very convincing white ball of fire in her hands.

"You will join your _Master_," she spat, "on the other side of oblivion!"

The last thought running through her head as darkness overcame her, was that at least she would drag her insufferable _other_ master with her.

* * *

"You know what?" Lan said lowly as the horse moved gently underneath them. They had escaped the mansion, found horses to borrow and rushed through the now broken enemy lines as the cavalry had just been there. Nynaeve had never experienced so much happening in one setting as she did now. And she found herself a little irritated when Lan wanted to talk silliness while she was in pain. 

"What?" she bit out, not caring for hurt feelings as she sensed another contraction coming close. Light! These babies were just too willing to come out! She could barely jam her legs together and stop them!

Lan gave a small chuckle. How he managed to be like that in a situation like this, hastily escaping the front as battle havocked around them, Nynaeve had no idea. Not that she cared anyway; this pain was unbearable.

Suddenly, just as they were closing in on the forest, closely followed by the men in Lan's small group (it had been really weird meeting those too, being carried by Lan all the way and just managing a hand wave), something happened. The ground shook as a great white light erupted in the middle of the forest, only moments later followed by another blasting through the roof of the mansion and reaching high up in the sky.

The horses stopped abruptly, almost throwing off their masters, whinnying in fright. Nynaeve opened her eyes to watch the dome of light shooting up into the sky, recognising the light as Balefire. Lan did too, as he spoke lowly, "Let us hope it was the Amyrlin's doing."

"She's there?" Nynaeve asked quickly, eyes widening, additional fear running through her veins for her previous apprentice and friend. If Egwene had to resort to that kind of weaves in her fighting, then she must be up against Lanfear, or her companion. Her jaw closed firmly as she withdrew her eyes, not able to watch anymore.

"Get me there, Lan."

"You cannot help her like this!" he said incredulously, tightening his grip around her waist. "Nynaeve, you're in labour!"

"Don't you think I know it?!" she snapped, wriggling in his grip to escape. It was futile, though. "Let go!" She didn't care if she sounded like a petulant child. She didn't care she did it in front of witnesses, people who respected her. She only wanted to save her friend. It was her duty. She was meant to protect all the children of Emond's Field who set out into the big world after that horrible Winter Night.

"You cannot fight for everyone. They have to fight their own battles." Lan's words cut through to her, defeat filling her as she slumped. Tears came again and she sobbed. The pain returned, giving additional pain in her cramped and weird position.

"Just get me to that blasted triage centre," Nynaeve spoke in the end, gripping the front of Lan's cloak tightly. Lan nodded against her hair, the horse beginning to move again. The others followed quietly and she dared a look at them. All she met was respect and understanding. It comforted her a little.

_You know you cannot keep saving everyone.  
I want to, though.  
Yes, but the birds have to learn to fly some time. And they'll be all right. You taught them, after all._

What seemed like an hour later, the little group rode into the relief camp set up in the mouth of the valley, where the hills rose on either side. Yellow sisters were already in business, giving Healing to those who needed it and servants rushing to and fro with this and that.

Nynaeve's heart ached for the wounded and dead, wanting to help them, but she knew it was useless. She had other things to do. There were still two little lives needing her.

"Do you need help?" A man ran up to them, taking the reins Lan reached him. Lifting Nynaeve into the helping hands of Turin Sedai in his Tar Valon garb, he climbed down and took her in his arms again.

"We need a tent. She's in labour." Realisation dawned upon the servant's face as he saw Nynaeve and her pained expression, coupled with the very swollen bulb beneath her chest. She was breathing heavily and moaning slightly.

"Y-yes, of course! This way!" The servant was about to head away, but Nynaeve's grip on his shirt stopped him. She looked at him, almost scared to know the answer to her question.

"Is the Amyrlin Seat alive?" Silence fell over them for just a moment, before the servant opened his mouth to speak. Just then, another voice broke through the air.

"Nynaeve!"

She twisted her head to see the source, an unexplainable feeling rushing through her as she saw Egwene stumbling over towards them, very much alive. Although sporting a few wounds, she was smiling largely and seemed unaffected by them. Nynaeve had never been as happy to see her friend. That meant Lanfear had been finished off with Balefire, though it didn't explain the Balefire coming from inside the mansion.

"You're alive!" Egwene hugged her, being very un-Amyrlin-like, but didn't care. Not that Nynaeve cared she was technically a Queen now either. They were still the two Emond's Fielders setting out to conquer the World so many years ago. Finally rid of their greatest enemies.

Just then, another contraction made it announcement and she could vaguely hear Egwene shout an order and Lan move across the snow-covered ground. A moment later and she was put upon a makeshift cot in one of the more private tents.

At last she could start focussing on pushing those two babies out of her belly. Looking at Lan, holding her hand tightly in his, she began to feel at peace with herself. It had been a rough ride the last year and were still facing a couple of more bumps, but they would pull through. She was sure of it now.

"You know what?" Lan asked again, pulling up the previous thread of conversation. "I think the boys should be called Maric and Jael."

"Lan?" she said firmly. He looked at her. She smiled, squeezed his hand in affirmative, and then boxed his ears thoroughly. "Shut your face."

* * *

The battle was over. Soldiers stood leaning on their lances and swords, sitting down upon the bodies of fallen Trollocs, gazing tiredly around them. Blood streamed down from wounds, clogging the views of some and draining the life force out of others. Many had died today, to this bitter victory that finally vanquished another major threat of Darkness upon the world. 

Men and women alike started wandering listlessly around, searching the bodies for fallen friends. Some would be lucky and find live ones, some would have to mourn the passing of precious lives. But overall people would remember how the world had conquered another rising Darkness and settle down.

And just for the additional benefit of morale, a pair of premature cries would rip through the air as lungs were forced to use in a strange and new world. Smiles broke out on those faces that knew what had happened. Others would smile just for the victory and new life.

And everyone would eventually be happy once again.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

_**Author's notes and thanks!**_

_I just want to thank all those precious souls who has stayed with me the last two years, hanging in there reading and reviewing this story and the first in the duology, "Nynaeve's Decision". I have had these really tough and long writer1s blocks, so I'm eternally grateful for those staying around all the way to the finish. Thanks so much, guys! I'm really sorry to finish this, though, as it was great fun writing, but alas; I am also a bit relieved. You'd think it was easy writing 130,000 words in a row, but it's really difficult! _

_Many, many thanks to _**faeriepuck**_ and _**EvilChani**_for their beta reading in those times I really needed them! Love you!_

_And lastly, but not the least, thanks a million times over for all those who has reviewed! These people are:_

**Discordchick, Aelyna, F75, Lilla My, w/e, Morganofthefairies, phoenix82, Traitor's Daughter, inquisitive person, Nighthorror, Amber, nightdweller, Foxgem, Beccabus, TalithaJ, Lan's Mashiara, Nynaeve80, Nynaeve226, Taiyoukai Lady, Panthino, Maria, seque, laura sedai, Ronarah, Aria-wolfstar, Sophia, faeriepuck, hamid, Gea, vahid, Dai shan, dontfeedfred, Tale, SeventhSpanishAngel12, nelly, THKSkywalker, Danyu, Palanfanaiel, Rachel, wow, Neviwyn, Ruinwen, Sel-Takura, Camilla Sandman, Fairytale, flaming pinecones, Sadistic Memory, A Thought Persists, Frosteh, lannynaevefreak, Starlight, Kim, Mira Hopesbane, Horrible-FF-HTW, Gwylym and Elluxion.**

_Thanks for letting me experience this wondrous feeling of being respected and appreciated! I will never forget you! Although if you fail you R-E-V-I-E-W, I will probably haunt you forever... Nah, just kidding! _


	17. Epilogue: Fragrance of Love

_**Disclaimers:** I do not own Wheel of Time, neither the characters nor items related to it. Though the babies are mine! And any other character you don't recognise. They all, unfortunately, belong to Robert Jordan. The excerpt at the beginning is taken from the start of every Wheel of Time novel.  
_

_**A/N: **This is dedicated to all my faithful readers!  
_

* * *

**I Will Find You**

**EPILOGUE – Fragrance of Love**_  
By neela

* * *

_

_"The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, and Age yet to come, and Age long past, a wind rose in the Blight. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning."_

There was a gentle calmness caressing the rolling hills, the snow-capped mountains and waning autumn trees. It was like the air itself knew what was happening and prepared itself for it. A fiery array of yellow, orange and red met the blue-purple sky dotted with white fluffy clouds, clashing in a beautiful display of the slumbering life before the great winter. Somewhere, a soft breeze set out from the north, seducing the leaves to join in a mystical dance across the landscape, giving inspiration to fantasies of dryads and elves to little ones.

Bound southward, the wind swept on carrying the traces of winter in the far north, bringing it ever closer to the regal mountains among the countless lakes and waters. It glided over the waters, ripples expanding from the shores and out into the deep end, disturbing gently the peaceful animal life within the deep. Bubbles broke the surface as the fish came up to sniff the air before disappearing again, by crickets singing the song among the sleeping water lilies and straws. From its nest in the undergrowth by the shore, near a weeping willow leaning over the water, rose a crane in search of food. An unfortunate fish was caught in its beak and brought back to the crane's mate.

Unhindered by this display of nature's way of life, the breeze rolled past the thousand waters and rose up over the hill, catching the drying grass in its grasp and ruffling it like green-yellow ripples up and over the ground. There was no ill content in the wind's ministrations, no disdainful emotion behind its mask. It was just a carefree breeze from the north, telling tales of the winter that was yet to come, enjoying the life it lived.

As it reached the top of the hill, the wind blew upwards, the valley opening up before it in a magnificent picture of life. The rolling hills covered in drooping willow trees, the tall regal mountains in the distance already carrying the first sign of white substance, and the grand lake at the base of the chain of mountains. Leaping forward and whistling softly, a tune it had known forever and yet never, the breeze surged down into the valley and over the landscape. Its destination was unclear, only taking the first turn it met or parting in two and going on, but there was a place it did want to visit.

At the shorelines of the grand lake, willows drooping lazily over the waters, lay a town. The houses were of no different shape than the wind had seen elsewhere in the immediate south as it every year travelled south until it met the sea that stretched on forever. Tall roofs with eaves almost reaching the ground, all of stone foundation and wooden walls. They were meant to last here in the mountains, the wind knew, so it held nothing back as it danced around the corners and took hold of the people's dresses and hats, sweeping them along as it flew over them.

The two-legs the wind encountered treated it with great respect, which pleased it. They knew what message it brought, what kind of change they had to expect. It was thrilled to feel them smell it, touch it and look where it came from. There were so few who did that further south. Grim faces was left in its wake as the wind swept on, the two-legged creatures returning to their business with the knowledge of what to do afterwards.

Giving the town another whistling tune, the breeze soared upwards as it met the mountains and careened back along the ridge stretching out beside the town. There, along the ridge new stone foundations were standing erect into the air. Many years ago, they had been smaller, more vulnerable to the wind as it met the rocks and pushed with all its might, but now they were stronger. The wind wondered if the life had finally returned to the stone walls, as it pushed and pushed, and yet nothing fell apart. Last time the wind did this routine had been different. The stones had fell easily then. Now they withstood, which pleased the breeze.

Full of life, the wind curved around the seven stone-peaks, happy with the resistance and knowing its message had been received. Now it fled to the mountains again, over the rolling hills and thousand waters, going further south than where it was.

And in its wake stood a woman upon a platform high above the ground, leaning the palm of her hands on the simple, but beautifully carved railing. The platform was connected to one of the stone foundations, stretching so far above the ground the woman could see all the way north to the Border. Dark tendrils of hair caught in the tail of the dancing wind, flowing around her as if she was laid down in water. Eyes were closed, but if she opened them, one could see they were as dark as her hair, full of life and passion, but still gentle in her moments.

The woman stood eerily still as the wind passed and continued south, her smooth lines ageless as she focused. It was like meditation, but of a different kind. Her hands were calm, her skin growing cold in her nightgown despite the heavy over-cloak she had put on, but she did not notice. She was trapped in the confinement of her mind, listening through an ancient ritual to the wind's tellings. What she heard worried her.

Blinking her eyes open, they fell immediately upon the line of mountains in the distance that composed the Border. It had been weeks since he went up there with his army. Weeks she had spent worrying, raging and weeping in the confinements of their apartments. Nothing had given her ease of mind, unless she count the two precious lives sleeping peacefully in their cots in the adjoining room. She wanted desperately to leave for the Border when no news had reached the town since he set out, but her advisor had kept her from going. The means she had used were too degrading for the woman to think about; it still filled her with an indescribable fury and humiliation.

Gritting her teeth, the woman reached up to catch her free hair in her hand, bringing it to the front of her chest. She always wore it down in private, at night, to remember him. He loved to stroke through the free strands and caress her scalp tantalizingly, even tease her sensitive skin with it; enough to make her burn with passion. It warmed her cheeks even now, just to think about it, but it was all she really had at the moment. Until he returned to her again.

At least this time she knew he would eventually return. Not like last year, when her future had been so utterly bleak and grey until he shockingly showed up again. The woman smiled at the memory, her fingers running through the soft dark hair. So much had happened in the two years since the Last Battle, or what was supposed to be the Last Battle, but in reality was only the beginning of the end for the Dark One and his minions. Even though she and the Lord Dragon Reborn had expelled the Dark One from this world on a permanent basis, the traces of him were lingering and raging havoc. Only in the past year they had fought three major battles, the first of which she had given birth to their two sons right afterwards.

And there had been so many things happening in-between the battles. So many happy occasions, not like the gruesome, harsh reality of bloody fights between Darkness and Light. Perrin's mysterious sleep broken and allowing him to awake; Faile's birth to a healthy baby girl that totally swept her father of his feet; the wedding in Ebou Dar between Mat and Tuon before they sailed away into the horizon to pursue another life in the distant world of Seanchan; the continuing improvement of Rand's eyesight and his children's adorable pudgy faces as they celebrated their second birthday with cream cake.

Then the Crowning ceremony.

She had been so happy at that time, even though her nerves were frayed from little sleep at night because of the twins and trepidation of not becoming a proper Queen. But he had calmed her fears, like always, and as they sat down beside each other and listened to the cheers ringing through the grand hall, he gave her a real smile, dimples and all. Of course she ruined it by crying. She still was embarrassed about that.

In the ancient tradition of Malkier, the highest-ranking people among the new-founded society came to the throne room where the new King would be elected. Even though his parents had sworn the oath of kings in his name, her husband refused to take the place unless the rods fell in his favour. Blue for al'Lan Mandragoran, son of late King al'Akir Mandragoran, and red for his rival, one of the noble men who'd survived the attacks when the Blight swallowed Malkier. Some of those highest-ranking men and women were generally opposed to the idea of undergoing such an election, but Lan was firm in his demand, so they obliged.

The rods were all blue. The people all knew the story of his brave parents, of him and his endeavours since he was brought to Fal Dara as a child. No one could ever believe there would be anyone else worthy of the responsibilities and honour of being King of Malkier.

Regarding the nobles, the woman reminded herself, she would have to see if the meeting with the newly elected Lord Alric of the House Feldragon could be pushed back an hour or so tomorrow. One of the servants had developed a worrisome fever and she wanted to check his progress tomorrow before the meeting. Though she was Queen, she just could not let go of her affinity for Healing and care for others. It had given her the unofficial title of "Queen el'Nynaeve the Gentle", which was a paradox in itself as her anger was now very well known throughout the Seven Towers (and the country).

She released a laugh before sobering up as she watched the darkening clouds in the distance. The wind had spoke of early winter this year, among other things. Caught up in business by the Border the King had not given a date for his return, and with the increased enemy activity reported by messengers, she was very worried. It tore her heart having to stay put here and take responsibility of the day-to-day activities that came with ruling a country. But he had asked her in earnest, the emotion in his eyes and those sent through their golden Bond capturing her in his inquiry. She had not dared to say no.

But the sense of danger was tightening its grip on her soul, making her unable to sleep and gain comfort from a dream world where there were no worries in their paradise. Only the other day her advisor had reprimanded her for staying up and out in the cold at night, almost threatening with further actions should she continue with this habit. The woman was sure Sharina would have someone check in on her tonight, but the ripples in her ward around the apartments spoke of no one entering the private dining chambers yet. Once it did, she would make sure whoever coming in would get a surprise they would never forget. She had grown up with Mat Cauthon after all.

Closing her eyes, Nynaeve found the small bundle of emotions at the back of her head that was Lan. It was almost like just a flutter in the distance, as far away as he had ever been all those times she had checked. Not that she could really pinpoint his location from just their Bond. Though, from what she could tell, he was sleeping; resting for another moment while the battles paused. Or it could be he was just embracing the Oneness, _ko'di_, and was completely enraptured in the moment of fighting. She hated not knowing. She wanted to feel the truth, but the only times she was able to, Lan was less than a mile away. Now there were only uncertainties.

From inside the rooms, beyond the glass doors leading to the platform, a whimper broke through the silence. She gave the distance and the Border a final look, sending whatever golden emotions she could through the Bond, and went inside. The room was spacey, tall under the roof by four-five metres and equipped in a true style of royal eccentricity. A mix of Malkieri and Two Rivers furniture, as well as Cairhien and Seanchan wall hangings (gifts from her other royal friends), filled the room with a feeling that made Nynaeve feel at home. It was comforting to see the new pair of chests Tam al'Thor had built and sent for her children, consisting of the few things they managed to find intact in her cottage as well as replaced items. From the Grey Tower came exquisite Sea Folk porcelain, compliments of the Amyrlin Seat, and one of the local carvers in Lacha had given a set of beautiful cribs for the new princes. Nynaeve had loved them at first sight.

Heading over to the pair of cribs in the next room, moving past the tall four-poster bed that was her and Lan's, the red hangings made of imported Shara satin, Nynaeve tugged the fistful of hair in her grasp out of old habit. The whimper grew stronger, so she hurried past the open door and to the crib standing furthest away from her. The fireplace gave off a warm, golden light, shadowing the carvings at the sides of the crib. A pattern of mystical animals was dancing around the crib, broken only by the tiny mark of a crane flying over a lake.

She smiled as she stepped up to the crib, taking in the sight with a delightful chuckle. After a year of motherhood, she had most certainly softened, Nynaeve thought as she reached a hand down to stroke the soft dark mop of hair on her firstborn son's head, her lungs releasing breath as she began to hum. As if realising she was there, the whimpering stopped completely, stunning her as it had once been quite difficult. After their father's abrupt leave for the Border, the twins had noticed his absence and given their complaint in full force at night. Tonight seemed to be an exception, though. The first in a fortnight.

"Shh," she spoke softly, gazing at the beautiful pudgy face of Maric. "Mama's here." The little boy turned in his sleep, his tiny fist coming up to grasp her finger. It was a strong grip, not that she needed reminding, as her hair had often been the victim of his strength. Maric would grow up to be strong, just like his father, Nynaeve knew. Though it both thrilled her and annoyed her that she wouldn't know at this point if any of her boys would inherit her temper. She hoped none of them would, although Jael _had_ given sign of being quite the stubborn boy.

Calming Maric took less time than she expected, but as always she stood for a longer time just studying his features. It was mesmerising to gaze upon the fruits of a life she and Lan had led, always taking the breath out of her. She could stand for hours just watching the twins, but in her heart she knew Lan would stand even longer.

Fatherhood had quite changed him, as if he wasn't already changed from her marriage to him. He often surprised her with new revelations of his soul, of new and gentle actions that made her love him even more. Once she had heard him sing a lullaby to the twins, the words unknown but no less alluring to listen to. Lan hadn't noticed her standing in the doorway, or he had but never told her he knew, but Nynaeve did not keep up the night time eavesdropping. It was his moment of intimacy; he would share it with her in his own time, even if she were tempted to box his ears once in a while for being a dim-witted mudfoot.

Releasing the fist of Maric, she smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead before stepping away and turning. The second crib was carved in the same way as the first, with the symbol of the crane dancing in the firelight and looking as if it was alive. Nynaeve looked down at her second darling boy, entering this world just a few minutes after his brother. It struck Nynaeve then, that she dearly hoped the two brothers would grow up without rivalry, although boys were known to compete against each other. She was worried that the crown, even with the King's Election ceremony, would be the cause of discord between them.

_It is too early to get grey hairs over this matter, girl. _

She knew the little voice was right, so she dropped the line of thought and returned to admire her baby boy. Jael, like Maric, also had dark hair and a strong grip, but where Maric's eyes were dark, his were blue like the clear sky as his father. And he had taken to suck his thumb at night lately, which was really quite adorable. Sharina insisted it was a habit they should nip in the bud, but Nynaeve thought it was good for their teeth. Needless to say, Nynaeve had lost the debate.

Gently, she reached down and pulled the thumb out of Jael's mouth. His lips did a frantic search for it, threatening to prove his lungs were working, until she stroked across his hair and made soft humming noises. Like Maric, he immediately quietened as the familiar action rolled past her lips. It was the lullaby Lan used to sing when he was here, the one she had eavesdropped upon and never mentioned to him. No wonder the twins hushed so easily. Both were their father's sons.

Breaking off when she knew Jael had calmed, Nynaeve withdrew from the crib and the room, leaving the door ajar and escaping to the royal four-poster bed. Calmness had fallen over her again, as it used to do after visiting her sons. She took off the over-cloak, her skin noticing the warmth creeping into it as she climbed into bed where the servants had put a bed-warming pan at the end. Burrowing herself in the covers, she turned to the empty side of the bed.

More than a year before, she had lain awake at night, her tears drying on her cheeks as she once again told herself she would never see her husband's face again. Now, it was easier to imagine Lan was lying next to her at night. When the darkness fell over the slumbering city, the real world gave way for dreams and fantasies, and while Lan was away, Nynaeve always woke clutching his pillow. It smelled of him, even after a fortnight, and it was heavenly. Nynaeve inhaled the scent of his covers and pillow, relishing in the intimacy she experienced as she smelled his fragrance lingering there. Like the fruits of their love, their sons, it gave her comfort and reassurance.

_I know now, beloved, after an extremely horrible lesson, that whatever happens, you will find your way home. Always._

Nynaeve smiled into Lan's pillow, clutching it tighter in her arms. Finding the bundle of emotions at the back of her head, she sent every ounce of love and comfort she felt, and knew that far up in the north, he felt the same._  
_

* * *

The wind came to the northern border at the waning light, the camp beginning to slumber in the uneasy peace that could be broken any moment. Up on the walls of stone, the guards were changing watch, those already done theirs going to fetch some sleep. The others stood alert at their post, gazing out on the vast darkness before them. Torches were lit, giving a bit of comfort in an otherwise comfortless world. A tense atmosphere lay over them, only growing heavier as the wind passed them. It would be an early winter this year.

Standing on top of one of the towers, the man ignored the blistering breeze as it caught hold of his cloak. He was dressed in thick, warm shirt and pants underneath the armour, though the cold managed to sneak into the creeks and joints of the armour. One of the men had offered his spare cloak to him earlier, but he had refused. The men did not need to go freezing when there were battles to fight. He was fully able to go back to his tent and pick up the cloth buried deep in his saddlebags.

He caught one end of the cloak as it flapped in the wind, holding it between his thumb and finger, caressing the soft cloth in remembrance. A ghost of a smile brushed his lips, memories of how he had acquired this cloak returning to him. It had been on a visit to his wife's old hometown, upon which they had gone to join the naming ceremony of the Lord and Lady's young baby daughter, born just a few weeks before. The ceremony resembled that of old Manetheren customs, mixed with a few elements from Saldaea's court. In his opinion, it was an honourable way to welcome a newborn into the world.

It had been likewise when his boy twins were named. Somehow his wife had learned of yet another long-lost Malkieri custom, this one involving the naming of a child. Applying for both royal and common, she had believed it would be the perfect way to mix both their heritages. Of course he agreed, but he doubted the gift giving between mother and father was really necessary. Not that he did not enjoy the sturdy Two Rivers hunting shoes he had been given, but he had somehow failed to realise the substance and importance of the gifts, which did not fall in his wife's good graces upon receiving a simple quill from him. He had been forced to sleep in a separate room for almost a fortnight.

But in the small prosperous town of Emond's Field, the naming ceremony had gone smoothly and to the joy of many. After the ceremony they stayed additional four days, experiencing the common life like it was only yesterday they had been in the town before a fateful Winter Night. During their stay, however, he had insisted on burying the final axe between him and his wife, making her take him to the cottage in Westwood. To take him to the place and time where she lived for a while after Tarmon Gai'don, hiding from the world and burrowing herself in sorrow.

The cottage had been snug, a little worn-down at the edges and still sporting the giant hole in the back where his wife had escaped the Trollocs. Creaking in the slow wind, the door almost fell off its hinges as they stepped through, in his arms the tiny body of their firstborn. His wife held the second boy, standing outside and not daring to go in. She did not want to see the place where she had experienced so much sorrow. But he forced her inside, dragging her gently into the darkness and persuading her to light a blue-white flame that cast a cold and bitter glow on the broken room.

He had realised then how much of a life she had made for herself. That even in her sorrow, she had tried to go on with life as it could become, preparing herself and the world on the arrival of her two baby boys. Broken remains of a crib, a couple of chests containing ripped clothing too small for either of them to fit into (meaning it were for the children), her herb collection, rugs and linen, reading chair and pots and pans, the one-man sized bed inside the small bedroom. That's what was left of her life there now. He was happy she was making a new one elsewhere.

Yet it hurt her, he saw, to see the place she had made her hope and life line ripped to pieces. In their new home in Lacha lay the few items that had not been broken, fetched that day she took the awful weed that eventually released them both. Silently turning the baby in her arms to him, she went into the bedroom, staring around it all before beginning to dig into the shredded mattress. After a little while, drying her cheeks from wetness, she returned with something wrapped in cloth. He was refused when asking to see it, only gestured to follow outside and into the woods.

She took him to her special spot on top of the hill, where she used to watch the sun rise in the morning. It was magnificent, holding such beauty he couldn't express with words, but awarded his wife with a smile and guiding her close. The two babies lay on top of his cloak, sleeping without a care in the world, breathing deeply. Feeling finally contented with himself, and she with herself, they gave each other a kiss in the sundown. A confirmation of letting go of the past. Once she withdrew, she leaned down and picked up the cloth he was not allowed to see before.

It was the cloak he was currently wearing. Sturdy brown wool, with a slight tint of green and grey, lined with silk trimmings. Holding her fragrance. She had made it herself, she said. One of the things she had held secret during the Battle and aftermath. It was for his name day. Or later, for when he returned. Though she forced herself to believe he would never return, the fact that this cloak had been with her until she was forced to flee Two Rivers, spoke of trust and hope of such magnitude that he dared not compare it.

Lan drew out of his thoughts, looking out on the vast dark plains before him. It would not be long before the snow came. He felt it in the wind. Just like the attacks by Trollocs had intensified in the past two weeks, the winter would fall strong and cold over the Northern border.

It had been quite sudden, the attacks. One day there was peace and quiet in the Seven Towers, enjoying watching his sons crawl over the carpet and Nynaeve's wonderful laughter, the next riding off to the north with reinforcements. The Ogier-built walls had held fast where the construction was complete, but there were still vulnerable unfinished gaps, like the one he stood next to right now. He had tried to send the Ogiers away from the battle, but they insisted on finishing the job. Nothing he said could convince them. They had too much respect for the nation Malkier to leave them a defenceless border.

Turning slightly away from the dark dead plains, Lan looked through a crenel in the wall and down upon the battlements below. Palisades built in strong, yet frighteningly young, Malkier wood were strung along the unfinished stone walls stretching to the next tower some hundred yards away. The Ogier had sung to the trees and made them sturdier against attacks, but experience had shown them enough pressure would eventually make the palisades collapse. They had had no choice, however, to use the less than two year old trees in Malkier as bringing trees from the Southern Borderlands would take too long. Yet another reason why the Ogier were so dedicated to finishing their work.

The task of building a strong wall along the Northern border of Malkier stretching across Tarwin's Gap from Mountains of Dhoom in the west and Spine of the World in the east should have commenced shortly after his Crowning ceremony. As it were, most agreed the Shadowspawn was likely to try invading the Westlands again after the Lord Dragon Reborn killed their Master, but many reasoned it weren't necessary as the Trolloc forces had been scraped thin during Tarmon Gai'don and its aftermath. Not to mention the resources were absolutely needed elsewhere as the Borderlands stumbled back on their feet and Malkier rose from ashes.

Lan had agreed with this hesitantly, persuaded by the people of Malkier, knowing the land needed everything it could scramble for building a society worthy of the growing masses as men and women sought back to their ancestors' lands. But at the back of his mind he knew that one day he would regret it. Nynaeve had tried her best to ease his worries, even proposed border outposts in the mountains on the other end of Tarwin's Gap. From there they would see a possible invasion, and the updated warning system of lighting pyres along the ridge of the gully would alert them in time to send troops out to face the Shadowspawn.

Today he both regretted and not his decision to wait with the construction of stone walls in Tarwin's Gap. The resources saved in the last year had been brought to good use and had even doubled with the founding of stone quarries and woodcutters at the base of Mountains of Dhoom. The Malkieri people had strived, the society had grown and the living standards had risen considerably since the early foundation of Lacha and the other settlements. This year's harvest had been a good and prosperous one. And then again, the blow had been swift and hard once the enemy attacks finally bore down on their doorstep.

After the first attacks had been staved off, a period of calm came and Lan didn't wait for it to pass until he ordered commencement of the postponed plan. And so the Malkieri started the slow process of raising stone walls, towers and battlements across the gully and after a while the Grey Tower had sent Aes Sedai with affinity for Earth to strengthen them. But when the second volley had come and seriously delayed the building process, Lan had been forced to seek out help from other communities as well.

The most welcomed surprise had been the arrival of the Ogier builders some months ago and they had set to work immediately, spreading out across Tarwin's Gap and working towards the middle. Lan had sent all his men to cover the gaps where tall and sharp palisades had been raised, as well as protect the Ogier as they worked seemingly around the clock.

Below the Gate House where he stood, the outer walls stood high above the ground and bore obvious signs of being a work in progress. On the outside of the wall, darkness spread across the plains and dead grass, swallowing the land of the enemy as a last spite against their Master's demise. The inside, however, was spread in a soft light from torches and fires along the wall as the tall Ogiers hammered on rocks, sang lowly, or worked on the many finesses and parts of the battlements and towers. Groups of soldiers mingled around and among them, tense and swords at the ready as each listened for the warning bell from one of the bastions along the wall or the Gate House itself signalling enemy attack.

All that was left of the Northern defence were the walls between this tower and the second Gate tower currently being constructed about thirty yards away, and the two next bastions to the east. To encourage enemy concentration to one spot, as well as give the defenders an opportunity to ride out on the plains to fight with spears, the Ogier had insisted on building a large, strong gate in the middle of the gully. Thus forming the immensely large and towering complex of the Gate House on which Lan was currently standing on top of.

For the moment, everyone slept in either tents or inside the finished bastions and Gate towers, just within reach of the battlements and outside enemy archer range. Supplies and horses were stowed away in the larger barracks constructed along the inner wall. In the future there would be stables and smaller buildings for the supplies, but for now everything was operated according to what was available. All in all, the Northern defence lines were intimidating even in its construction, only weeks or months away from completetion depending on delays and enemy attacks.

However, Lan thought, they would have to finish before the snow fell, unless the Aes Sedai he had asked for came in time.

Lan tugged the cloak tighter -- the only sign the cold wind was affecting him -- and stepped away from the eastbound crenels towards the northern crenels. The darkness was bothering him, the unusual calm reminding him of a storm in the making. Had Nynaeve been here she would have told him whether a storm was coming in the near or far future, but his experience and sense of danger told him it was the former. The Shadowspawn had attacked again this morning; they would do so again very soon.

Lingering a moment longer on the memorable features of his beatuful wife, Lan's thoughts wandered to the little bundle of emotions at the back of his head. Just flutters, hints of what was going on in wee hours of the night down in the safety of the Seven Towers. Images of Nynaeve changed to his sons Maric and Jael, imagining what they looked like in their tiny cribs. It would be a lie to say Lan didn't experience a warm sensation in the depth of his being.

He turned towards the south for only a second, sending his golden love and emotions towards the people he was fighting to protect. Not just the Malkieri people as a whole, but most of all his little family now sleeping soundly in their beds. Hopefully. Unless one or both of the boys were keeping Nynaeve awake. Or her own worries.

Chuckling lowly at the likely situation, Lan turned back once more to the darkness, thoughts of happy days at the beach line of the Thousand Lakes mingling with a soldier's hardened alertness and worry for his comrades in arms. The night was still young and until morning broke just a flash of fire in the sky would be enough to signal the smell of blood.

_Soon_, he reckoned, _very soon._

The wind caught hold of his cloak and tugged at it, causing Lan's hand to shoot out and bring it within grasp again. A sweet fragrance drifted through his nostrils as the sturdy fabric swept past his face. Lan smiled in the darkness, looking out into the unknown, tense as a warrior waiting to spring. Seasoned Borderlanders read the wind as channelers Listened to it. The wind had come from the south, danced around the mountain tops of Arafel and the Seven Towers, played at the willows by the Thousand Lakes and eventually journeyed further north.

Nynaeve's fragrance was on the wind. Comforting, enticing, telling stories of her hair dancing around a beautiful face as she let it down to its full length. Just as he loved it.

Suddenly the sky lit as balls of fire shot through the gully from the outposts in the mountains.

Lan looked sideways and saw how the towers along the walls lit up from the warning pyres, the sound of bells clinging in the near and distant area causing men to shout out and armour catching the light of torches in their gleaming steel. He cast one studying glance at the vast darkness stretching beyond the walls to the north, knowing his men were just waiting for the order to fire a few volleys of red-hot enflamed arrows across it to seek out the enemy's position. Hand on sword hilt, Lan turned and went towards the ladder leading down into the Gate House. He spared another southward glance, to where he knew the Seven Towers resided among mountains and a thousand lakes.

_I'm coming home soon, my heart. No matter what, I will find the way. Always._

* * *

**(T R U L Y) T H E E N D **

**

* * *

_A/N: _**_Although I have technically marked this story as 'completed', I never felt it was truly finished. I always had an epilogue resting at the back of my mind, and here it is, after many years. Thank you, thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and favourited this story! I do not think words can adequately describe the pleasure and joy I've experienced, and continue to experience, all these years whenever a little positive message arrives in my inbox concering "I Will Find You", or when I read the story stats. It's utterly incredible how so many have embraced this story! I never believed it would be so popular! So thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for those of you who have followed me from the tantalising beginning (the grammar mistakes and bad plotting of "Nynaeve's Decision") through the discontinued rewrite (marginally better "Nynaeve's Decision Rewritten") and to this final installment of my little AU take on the WoT universe. This epilogue is dedicated to you! _

_xxoo  
~neela~_


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